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This  book  must  not 
be  taken  from  the 
Library  building. 


THE  BORDER  BOY 


HOW   HE   BECAME   THE   GREAT   PIONEER 
OF   THE   WEST 


LIFE  OF  DANIEL  BOONE 


BY 

W.    H.    BOGART 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD,    rUBLISHERS 

KEW  YORK 
CHARLES    T.    DILLINGHAM 


CoPYlilGHT,   1884, 

By  lee  and   SHEPARD. 


All  rights  reserved. 
The  Border  Boy, 


PREFACE. 


1kterwv'>ven  with  the  history  of  the  entrance  of  the  Great 
West  into  the  family  of  civilized  nations,  is  the  career  of 
Daniel  Boone.  It  has  been  the  obiect  of  the  compiler  of  this 
volume  to  present  the  narrative  of  that  career  in  fidelity,  and 
in  such  light  as  would  rescue  the  memory  of  this  great  man 
from  the  common  judgment  passed  upon  him,  of  being  only 
an  Indian  fighter  and  a  bold  hunter. 

To  Daniel  Boone,  the  Great  Pioneer  of  the  West — having 
ever  a  purpose  and  a  destiny  before  him — this  volume  in- 
vites the  reader. 

The  compiler  has  been  greatly  aided  by  the  admirable 
work  of  Mr.  Peck — so  accurate  and  impartial — preserved 
n  the  collection  of  American  Biographies  by  Jared  Sparks; 
by  McClung's  Sketches  of  Western  Adventure ;  by  the  ex 
jellent  local  Histories  of  Kentucky,  collated  with  such  indus 
try  and  care  by  Mr.  Lewis  Collins ;  and  by  the  admirable 
Address  of  Gov.  IMorehead,  delivered  at  Boonesborough. 

If  the  perusal  of  tliis  volume  shall  elicit  a  deeper  and  a 


tv 


PREFACE 


more  diffused  gratitude  for  the  memory  of  the  Man  who. 
when  he  was  master  of  a  vas^t  .erritory  committed  no  op. 
pression,  and  when  ne  was  dej  rived  of  every  acre  uttered 
no  murmui '—  wLo  ft  tight  only  to  defend,  and  subdued  onlj 
to  yield  up  to  his  country — it  will  have  accomplished  th§ 
object  of  its  compiler 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


fmtrodiietion. — Ancestry  of  Daniel  Boone  the  pioneer. — Heme 
of  his  ancestors. — Emigration  of  George  Boone  fronc  England 
and  settlement  in  Pennsylvania. — Birth  of  Daniel.— Lineage, 
— School-boy  days. —  His  love  for  forest  life. —  The  boy 
hunter. — Removal  of  Squire  Boone,  the  father  of  Daniel, 
to  North  Carolina II 


CHAPTER  II. 

New  home  in  the  old  North  State. — Marriage  of  Daniel 
Boone  to  Rebecca  Bryan. — Boone,  with  his  bride  crosses 
the  valley  of  the  Yadkin,  and  builds  his  cabin. — Other 
settlers. — Boone  shuns  society. — Determined  to  remove 
west  of  the  mountains. — De  Soto — Indian  tribes. — Prevail- 
ing ignorance  of  the  country  west  of  the  mountains. — 
Character  of  Boone. — An  incident  of  his  old  age. — The 
Colonial  system. — Its  results, ,  , , .         81 


CHAPTER  III. 

«ohn  Finley*s  visit  to  Tennessee  in  1767. — Dr.  "Walker's  ex- 
pedition.— Boone's  visit  to  the  Holston  River. — Boone  and 
five  others  move  west  of  the  Cumberland  Mountains.— 


n  CX)NTENT8. 

▲as 

Boone's  wife. — ^Filson's  life  of  Boone.-^Boone  aid  Stewart 
taken  prisoners  by  the  Indians. — Escape. — They  find  their 
companions  gone. —  Boone  and  Stewart  remain  alone. — The 
narrative. — Indian  treaties. — Fate  of  Finley. — Squire  Boone 
arrives. — Death  of  Stewart — Boone  and  his  brother  pass 
the  winter  alone  in  the  woods. — Squire  Boone  returns  to 
North  Carolina  for  supplies, M 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Boone  alone  in  the  wilderness. — Deprivation. — His  own  nar- 
rative.— His  brother  returns  with  supplies  and  horses.^ 
News  from  his  family. — Extract  from  Governor  Morehead's 
address. — The  two  brothers  explore  the  country,  and  de- 
termine to  locate  upon  the  Kentucky  River. — They  return 
home. — Wonder  of  his  neighbors  at  seeing  Daniel. — They 
are  deterred  from  emigrating  by  fear  of  the  Indians. — 
Daniel  and  Squire  Boone,  with  their  families,  remove  to 
Kentucky, 7t 


CHAPTER  V. 

I'he  journey. — ^Five  families  and  forty  men  join  the  Boones 
at  Powell's  Valley. — A  party  of  the  emigrants  are  attacked 
by  Indians. — Boone's  son  and  five  others  killed. — The  com- 
pany turn  back  to  the  settlements  on  the  Clinch  River. — 
The  Long  Hunters. — Virginia  grants  land  in  Kentucky  to 
the  soldiers  of  the  French  War. — They  learn  the  charac- 
ter of  the  land  from  Boone. — Lord  Dunmore  orders  a  sur- 
vey.— ^The  expedition. — Boone's  reports  confirmed. — Herds 
of  buffalo. — Surveyors  reach  the  present  location  of  Har- 
rodsburg  and  Louisville. — Lord  Dunmore  sends  for  Boone 
—Rescue  of  the  surveyora, 89 


CONTENTS.  VB 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Boone  and  Stoner  penetrate  the  wilderness  eight  hundred 
miles,  to  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio. — ^They  find  the  party  of 
James  Harrod,  and  warn  them  of  Indian  hostilities. — Lord 
Dunmore  assigns  Boone  to  a  military  command. — Battle  of 
Point  Pleasant — Boone  returns  to  his  family. — Fertility 
and  beauty  of  the  West. — Richard  Henderson, — His  project 
of  a  colony. — Boone  is  sent  on  a  mission  to  the  Indians  by 
Lord  Dunmore. — His  success. — Boone  employed  to  open  a 
road  from  the  Holston  to  the  Kentucky  River, — Hostility 
of  the  Indians. — Letter  to  Colonel  Henderson Ofi 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Boone  and  his  company  build  a  fort. — He  removes  his  fam- 
ily to  it. — Other  families  remove  to  the  fort, — Arrival  of 
Henderson. — Boonesborough. — Transylvania  Land  Com- 
pany.— Other  settlements. — The  first  Legislature. — Boone 
a  Delegate. — John  Floyd. — Henderson's  address, — Boone  as 
a  Legislator, — Divine  service. — Colonel  Callaway's  family 
arrives. — ^The  Indians  capture  three  girls. — The  pursuit  and 
the  rescue. — ^The  Indians  attack  other  posts, — Indian  mode 
of  warfare, — The  war  with  Great  Britain. — Alarm  of  the 
settlers. — Return  of  many  of  them, I2i 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

rhe  revolutionary  war. — Harassed  by  the  Indians, — General 
Clarke's  journal. — Military  force  of  the  settlements. — Hen- 
derson's land  titles. — ^The  compromise. — ^The  settlers'  peti- 
tion to  be  taken  under  the  protection  of  Virginia. — The  In- 
dians attack  Boonesborough  fort  and  are  repulsed. — Attack 
renewed  by  greater  numbers. — The  whites  again  success- 
ful.— Reinforcements  arrive. — News  arrives  cf  Washing- 
utn's  victory  over  Howe 144 


Vni  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

General  Qiorge  R.  Clarke. — Virginia  grants  i'0\^  der  !<•  the 
Colony. — The  British  garrisons  at  Detroit,  Vincennes  and 
Kaskaskia. — General  Clarke  secures  the  ai5  cf  Boone. — 
Simon  Kenton. — His  captivity  and  cruel  treatxient  by  the 
Indians — His  rescue. — The  anticipated  reunion  of  the  sur- 
vivors— ^The  old  age  of  Kenton. — An  Indian  attack. — 
Boone  is  wounded  and  narrowly  escapes. — Boone's  daring, 
and  services  to  the  emigrants. — Boone,  with  thirty  men, 
plans  an  expedition  to  the  Blue  Licks, IM 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  Blue  Licks. — ^The  expedition. — Boone's  adventure  with 
two  Indians. — The  Indians  plan  an  attack. — Boone  is  taken 
prisoner  while  hunting. — Hia  party  surrender  and  are 
spared  through  his  influence. — Boone  is  afterwards  tried 
by  a  court-martial  and  honorably  acquitted. — Boone  and 
his  companions  are  taken  to  Old  Chillicothe. — Thence  to 
Detroit — Regard  of  the  English  for  Boone. — The  Indians 
refuse  a  large  ransom. — ^Tliey  return  to  Old  Chillicothe 
with  Boone  alone. — They  adopt  him  into  their  tribe. — 
They  set  him  to  making  salt,  and  permit  him  to  hunt,  ....       171 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Affairs  at  Boonesborough. — Boone's  wife  returns  to  North 
Carolina. — Boone  returns  from  the  Salt  Licks  to  Chillico- 
the.— He  finds  the  Indians  preparing  an  ex]iedition  against 
Boonesborough. — Boone  makes  his  escape,  and  arrives  at 
the  fort. — He  hastily  repairs  the  fort. — Boone's  expedition 
to  Paint  Creek. — Defeat  of  the  Indians. — Return  of  the 
party. — Arrival  of  a  large  body  of  Indians,  led  by  Captain 
Du  Quesne. — The  garrison  summoned  to  surrender, IM 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PAam 
Boone  obtains  two  days  to  consider  tie  summons  to  suiren- 

der. — He  refuses  to  surrender. — Further  negotiations  out- 
side the  fort. — Treacliei-y  of  the  Indians. — Squire  Boone 
wounded, — Nine  days'  siege  commences. — ^Tlie  Indians 
retreat. — Boone's  great  shot. — His  daughter. — The  siege 
and  the  defence. — Cause  of  Kenton's  absence. — Boone  ia 
tried  by  a  court-martial,  and  honorably  acquitted, 214 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Results  of  the  war. — A  retrospect. — Boone  visits  his  family 
in  North  Carolina. — Emigration  to  the  West  increases. — 
Land  office  established. — Commissioners  to  settle  soldiers* 
land  claims. — Governor  Shelby. — Great  activity  in  the  sur- 
veying of  land. — Boone  is  robbed  of  a  large  sum  of  money. 
— Its  effect  on  Boone. — The  land  law, 28i 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Boone  returns  to  Boonesborough  with  his  family. — ^The  Bri- 
tish and  Indians  contemplate  a  bold  attack  on  Kentucky. 
— Anecdote  of  Randolph. — Governor  Morehead's  history 
of  Boonesborough — Boone  and  his  brother  go  to  the  Blue 
Licks. — His  brother  is  shot  by  Indians. — Boone  is  pursued 
and  escapes. — The  cold  winter  of  1780. — Organization  of 
counties. — Indian  hostilities  renewed. — ^The  British  Gov- 
ernment and  the  Indians. — The  renegades  Girty  and  Mc- 
Kee. — Constant  alarms  of  the  settlers. — Tlie  confederated 
Indians. — Boone  again  afflicted  in  the  death  of  Bryant^. .       241 


CHAPTER  XV 

The  attack  on  Bryant's  Station.— The  retreat  of  the  Indians. 
— Rally  of  the  settlers. — The  council — ^The  pursuit — ^The 

A* 


OONTKNTO. 

ambuscade. —Battle  of  the  Blue  Licks. — ^Terrible  slaughter 
and  retreat  of  the  settlers — ^Another  of  Boone's  sons  slam. 
— Todd,  Trigg.  Harlan,  and  sixty-seven  others  slain. — 
Boone's  account. — A  thrilling  incident. — Boone's  report  of 
the  tattle. — CoL  Thomas  Marshall  and  Girty's  brother,. ...       271 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

General  Clarke. — His  campaign  against  the  Indians  at  Old 
Chillicothe. — Narrative  of  Boone's  escape  from  four  In 
dians. — The  paper  currency. — Courts  of  law  instituted.—' 
Boone  establishes  himself  on  a  farm. — ^The  return  of  peace. 
— Increase  of  emigration. — The  Indians. — Their  love  for 
rum.-  -Their  petition. — ^The  Indians  at  the  present  day, . . .       Ji9i 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Indian  hostilities  renewed. — ^The  numerous  Conventions  rela- 
tive to  the  formation  of  a  State. — John  Marshall — Ken- 
tucky admitted  into  the  Union  as  a  State  in  1791. — Boone'i 
difficulties  relative  to  the  title  to  his  lands. — He  loses  his 
farm. — Narrative  of  the  escape  of  Downing  and  Yates  from 
the  Indians. — The  brave  Kentuckians. — Escape  of  Mr. 
Rowan  and  family. — Boone's  visit  to  his  birth-place. — His 
hardships  in  the  loss  of  his  lands, »f 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

Bsone's  influence  over  the  Indians. — Services  in  procuring  an 
exchange  of  prisoners. — He  removes  to  Virginia. — Resumes 
hunting. — His  habits. — His  residence  in  Virginia. — He  con- 
templates removing  to  Upper  Louisiana. — Gen.  Wayne's 
victories  over  the  Indians. — Boone  looks  to  the  West.  ....       884 


CJONTENTfl 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Boone  emigrates  with  his  family  to  Missouri. — Tlie  journey. 
— Spanish  possession  of  the  territory. — Injustice  to  Boone's 
social  character. — Boone  is  welcomed  to  Missouri  by  the 
Lieutenant  Governor. — Arrival  at  St.  Louis  of  Laclede  and 
Choteau. — Boone  receives  an  api)ointmentfrom  tlie  author- 
ities.— He  is  presented  with  a  large  tract  of  land  by  the 
Lieutenant  Governor. — He  neglects  to  go  to  New  Orleans 
to  get  his  grant  confirmed, S44 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  vicissitudes  of  Boone's  life. — Sale  of  Louisiana  to  the 
United  States. — Boone  revisits  Kentucky. — He  pays  off 
his  creditors. — Returns  home. — ^Tlie  solitary  hunter. — Ex- 
posure to  danger  as  a  trapper. — His  hunting  excursion  to 
the  Osage  River. — He  is  again  deprived  of  his  land  by  land 
commissioners. — His  education. — His  children, 359 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Kentucky  as  a  Commonwealth. — Boone's  memorial  to  the 
Legislature  and  to  Congress. — Tlie  just  response  of  Ken- 
tucky.— Death  of  Mrs.  Boone. — Boone's  treatment  at  the 
hands  of  Congress. — General  Lafayette's  reception. — The 
contrast. — The  old  age  of  Boone. — His  children. — Boone  a 
hunter  at  eighty-two. — Anecdote. — Harding's  portrait — 
Sickness  of  Boone. — His  death. — A  retrospect, 811 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

Kentucky  then  and  now. — Washington,  Lafayette,  Boone, 
and  Harrison. — ^The  Legislature  of  Kentucky  cause  the  re- 
mains of  Boone  to  be  removed  to  Frankfort — The  public 
honors. — John  J.  Crittendei  —Conclusion, 384 


^>  CONTENTS. 

THE  HUNTERS  OF  KENTUCKY. 


Jo  Daviess, 


PAoa 


Simon  Kenton,  •  •  .  .  .  391 


40*) 


Bland  Ballard,          .....  jjb 

John  Hardin,      ......  426 

Benjamin  Logan,        '••...  |84 

William  Russell,                             .              •             ,              g  443 

R'laaHarl*., ^  ^^ 


LIFE  OF  DANIEL   ^OONE 


CHAPTER   I. 

WTROPUCnON  —  ANCESTRY  OF  DANIKL  BOONK,  THE  PIONEER — HOMj  ^^T  HM 
ANCESTORS EMIGRATION  OF  QW^f^  BOONE  FROM  ENGLAND,  A^D  SET- 
TLEMENT IN  PENNSYLVANIA BIRTH  OF  DANIEL LINEAGE 8CI*OOL-BOt 

DAYS HLS  LOVE  FOR    FOREST   LIFE THE    BOY-HUNTER REMOVAL   Of 

SQUIRE  BOONE,  THE  FATHER  OF  DANIEL,  TO  NORTH  CAROLINA- 

If  it  he  fame,  that  in  the  progress  of  a  great  empire, 
one  name  above  all  others  shall  be  associated  with 
its  deliverance  from  the  dominion  of  the  savage  — 
with  the  first  step  of  enterprise  —  with  the  grasp  of 
civilization  upon  the  domain  before  it  —  then  this  in- 
heritance is  that  of  the  subject  of  this  memoir — 
Daniel  Boone.  It  was  hib  to  lead  a  nation  to  its 
place  of  power,  and  the  memories  of  that  nation  can- 
not find  more  grateful  use,  than  in  the  treasuring  to- 
gether of  the  incidents  of  his  career.  He  knew  no 
tame  or  commonplace  existence,  but  lived  on,  in  a 
series  of  wild  and  vivid  experiences.  His  life  is  in 
the  annals  of  the  forest  chivalry  tint  only  America 
has  placed  before  fhe  observation  of  mankind, —  and 
Ml  all  tJie  stirring  records  of  the  bold  and  daring  — 


14  LITE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

the  determined  and  tlie  adventurous,  the  first  place  ia 
his  by  the  consent  of  the  historian. 

It  is  ever  to  those  who  seek  to  illustrate  the  career 
of  such  men,  a  thought  of  regret,  that  themselvea 
were  careless  of  their  own  biography  —  not  dreaming, 
while  they  performed  great  deeds,  that  to  the  world 
that  was  to  come  after  them,  every  incident  would  be, 
in  all  its  detail,  of  value.  They  were  more  solicitous 
to  make  the  present  a  distinct  and  determined  reality, 
than  to  take  care  of  the  ^^re  —  and  thus  they  deem- 
ed the  deed  done  in  its  own  doing,  and  cared  not  who 
heard,  or  admired,  or  recorded. 

Especially  is  tliis  true  of  men  of  the  Border.  They 
took  the  powder  liorn  and  left  the  ink  horn  at  home  — 
auil  like  all  men  of  true  courage,  they  cared  not  to  be 
the  historians  of  their  own  exploits.  It  is  such  charac- 
teristics of  the  western  rover  —  above  all  of  Daniel 
Boone  —  that  imposes  upon  their  annalist  the  most 
difficult,  as  it  must  be  the  most  discriminating  of  du- 
ties, in  weaving  a  narrative  of  facts  and  not  of  fancies. 

The  home  of  his  immediate  ancestor  was  in  one  of 
the  fairest  and  pleasantest  of  the  gentle  garden-landa 
of  England.  Devonsliire,  in  its  riclinc^s  of  ci:itiva 
tion,  its  crowded  population,  its  immediate  conti^u'n  v 
to  the  comforts  and  advantages  of  an  old  society  —  ii. 
its  peaceful  exemption  from  the  sound  or  alarm  oi 
war  —  was  in  singular  contrast  to  the  scenes  to  whicb 
•^le  emigration  from  Bradmnch,  near  Exeter,  of  George 


6ETTLEMKNT   IN    rKNNSYLV  ANIA.  14 

Bcone  was  to  introduce  liis  descendants.  It  was  a 
Bcliool,  of  all  others,  least  adapted  to  furnish  material 
for  the  formation  of  character  of  the  adventurous 
borderer ;  and  when  the  gentle  slopes  and  rich  pas- 
tures and  quiet  and  cultured  farms  and  fields  of  Dev- 
onshire sent  to  America  this  group  of  emigrants,  the 
keenest  prophet  of  future  destiny  could  not  have 
imagined  a  change  more  extraordinary  than  was  to 
be  wrought  in  the  future  of  this  family. 

Arriving  in  this  country,  he  selected  as  his  home, 
that  part  of  Pennsylvania  which  is  now  the  county 
of  Berks,  and  became  a  large  landholder.  The  honors 
of  the  possession  of  a  great  area  of  territory,  which 
in  his  own  country  he  could  not  acquire,  the  circum- 
stances of  the  new  land  to  which  he  had  come,  made 
it  easy,  and  he  availed  himself  of  the  position,  by  pur- 
chasing a  large  estate  in  the  locality  where  he  had 
settled,  and  in  the  neighboring  States  of  Maryland 
and  Virginia.  He  had  need  of  all  these  possessions, 
for  he  brought  with  him  from  Devonshire  a  family 
cf  nine  sons  and  ten  daughters. 

Tliere  was  a  touch  of  the  character  of  his  famous 
grandson  about  him,  in  considering  England  too 
crowdjed  for  the  comfort  of  such  a  family  as  that 
which  clustered  about  him.  In  that  day,  1717,  the 
colonies  of  Pennsylvania  and  Maryland  and  Virginia 
were  a  field  with  space  and  verge  enough  for  all  those 
iv^ho  sought  to  give  their  children  a  capacious  home 


1 6  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

{  ^e  of  the  cliildren  of  George  Boone  bore  the  verj 
American  name  of  "  Squire,"  so  often  affixed  in  the 
progress  of  judicial  honor,  but  seldom,  even  in  tho 
fanciful  variety  of  our  nomenclature,  finding  its  way 
to  the  baptismal  font.  He  settled  in  Bucks  county 
in  the  same  State,  and  married  Sarah  Morgan.  Like 
his  father,  he  raised  a  very  large  family ;  and  it  is 
curious  to  observe  that  it  was  not  till  he  had,  in  Israel 
and  Jonathan,  and  Samuel  and  Daniel,  and  George 
and  Edward,  drawn  extensively  upon  the  scriptural 
and  fanciful  designations  of  mankind,  that  he  invest- 
ed his  seventh  and  last  son  with  his  own  quaint  title 
of  Squire. 

He  became  a  resident  of  Bucks  county.  The  vi- 
cinity of  the  Delaware  was  attractive  to  the  emigrant, 
who  had  that  richest  country  "  all  before  him  where 
to  choose."  It  liad  been  selected  by  Penn  as  one  of 
the  great  avenues  to  the  ocean,  on  which  enterprise 
must  be  successful.  The  observation  of  each  hour  in 
this  day  shows  how  true  was  the  sagacity  of  those 
fathers  of  the  country,  who  distinctly  felt  that  the  homes 
they   secured  would  soon  be  surrounded  by  busy  men. 

Daniel  Boone  was  born  11th  February,  1735,  while 
his  father  resided  near  Bristol,  on  the  right  bank  of 
the  Delaware,  about  twenty  miles  from  Philadelphia 
—  inheriting  from  his  parents  that,  in  comparison 
with  which  all  other  inheritances  are  faint  and  feeble 
in  worth  —  a  constitution  insuring  longevity,  a  fram<^ 


LINEAGE.  I'J 

fitted  for  tlie  loiii;  career  of  toil  and  exertion  and  de» 
Derate  adventure,  and  sad  suffering  which  awaited  it. 
And  that  this  physical  good  was  a  characteristic  of 
this  remarkable  family,  it  is  a  record  of  value  to  ob- 
serve that  while  Boone's  father  attained  the  age  of  sev- 
enty-six  years,  the  united  ages  of  his  six  brothers  and 
sLiters  amounted  to  the  great  aggregate  of  five  hundred 
and  sixteen  years.  Three  years  the  junior  of  George 
Washington,  his  destiny  in  the  formation  of  a  countiy 
for  the  future  development  of  free  institutions,  had 
kindred  features. 

When  he  was  at  the  age  of  three,  his  father  re- 
moved to  Keading,  in  Berks  county.  It  is  difficult 
to  realize  that  the  important  and  flourishing  city,  the 
centre  of  one  of  the  richest  and  most  thickly  settled 
counties  of  the  great  Commonwealth,  was  at  a  period 
which  is  yet  imperfectly  passing  into  history,  a  frontier 
border  settlement,  where  the  watchfulness  and  vigil- 
ance of  the  inhabitants  were  keenly  exercised  in 
guarding  their  homes  against  the  attacks  of  the  ma- 
rauding Indian.  -It  was  a  revelation  to  the  hoy  Boone, 
of  the  future  of  his  life.  The  conversations  of  his 
childhood  were  the  strategy  of  the  savage  —  and  the 
development  of  his  mind  w^as  formed  into  the  pattern 
in  which  its  boldest  pursuit  was  moulded.  It  is  doubt- 
less literally  true,  that  the  Indian  and  his  incidents 
were  the  household  words  his  tongue  earliest  formed. 

Concerning  his  lineage,  whether  he  was  of  descent 


18  LIFE    OF    UAKIEL    BOON  E. 

from  the  Boones  who  were  of  the  Society  of  Friends, 

an  ingenious  and  ahle  genealogical  controversy  hag 
been  had  ;  and  the  arguments  on  either  side  have  been 
60  clear,  so  fortified  with  array  of  name  and  date, 
that- it  has  been  most  difficult  to  decide.*  It  is  very 
singular  that  of  one  almost  contemporaneous  with  the 
seniors  of  this  generation,  so  much  doubt  should  ex- 
ist. It  arises  from  the  complete  seclusion  and  obscu- 
rity in  which  his  earlier  years,  from  youth  to  manhood.^ 
were  passed,  and  from  the  cause  that  he  was  utterly 
unconscious,  except  at  last,  of  the  value  of  his  own 
biography.  One  of  the  most  elaborate  reviews  of 
this  question  has  been  made  by  John  F.  "Watson^  of 
Philadelphia,  whose  contributions  to  the  historical 
annals  of  Pennsylvania  and  New- York  have  been 
very  valuable.     A  note  from  him  is  subjoined.        It 

*  At  a  meeting  of  the  Historical  Society  of  Pennsylvania,  held 
at  Philadelphia  on  the  6th  instant,  Mr.  Thomas  Biddle,  Jr.,  the  Sec- 
retary, read  a  letter  in  relation  to  the  Boone  famil}-.  He  stated 
that  a  number  of  early  records  of  that  family  recently  came  into 
his  hands,  one  of  which  gives  an  account  of  the  Boone  family.  It 
states  they  left  a  town  eight  miles  from  Exeter,  England,  in  1717. 
It  names  Squire  Boone  as  a  son  of  the  immigrant,  and  father  of  DanieL 
The  letter  of  Mr.  Biddle  further  states,  that  it  is  an  entire  mistake 
that  the  family  originally  belonged  to  the  Society  of  Friends ;  that 
the  papers  prove  they  were  Episcopalians;  that  he  (Mr.  B.)  learned 
rfrbally  from  his  half-sister.  Miss  Boone,  who  died  in  1846,  ageJ 
•76,  that  George  Boone,  on  his  arrival  in  1717,  purchased  and  settle'! 
in  what  was  then  Berks  county,  and  laic  out  a  town,  naming  it 
Exeter.  He  also  purchased  land  in  different  places,  seme  as  far  south 
M  North  Carolina,  and  that  he  purchased  aLd  laid  out  Georgetowa 


LINEAGE.  19 

may  well  be,  judging  from  the  tone  of  calmness  and 
placidity  wliicli  were  so  marked  in  the  character  ol 
Boone,  that  he,  by  association  or  education,  had  known 
the  peaceful  associations  of  the  domestic  life  of  the 
Friends.  He  may  have  found  these  traits  of  tlie  ut- 
most service.  Indeed,  thougli  this  is  anticipating,  it 
will  most  impress  the  close  student  of  the  simple  an- 
nals of  the  great  man,  that  in  the  midst  of  a  border 
life  of  commingling  in  and  exposure  to  scenes  of  pred- 
atory warfare,  he  seemed  to  have  possessed  no  desire 
whatever  to  stir  up  strife  or  provoke  a  contest.  The 
subjoined  extract  throws  light  on  it : 

"  The  first  of  the  family  of  he  Boone's  were  Friends,  en- 
rolled and  recorded  in  the  re  Drd  of  the  monthly  meetings 
at  Gwynne  meeting, —  then  (died  North  Wales,  in  Mont- 
gomery Co.,  Penn.,  to  wit,  11 17,  3 1st  of  10th  mo.,  George 
Boone,  senior,  (the  grandfather  of  Col.  Daniel  Boone)  pro- 
duced a  certificate  of  his  gooc  iife  and  conversation,  from  the 
monthly  meeting  in  Great  Br  *iain,  '  which  was  read  and  well 
received.'  He  was  born  in  1  660.  George  2d,  son  of  the 
above  George,  had  one  son  and  four  daughters,  born  and  re- 
corded from  1714  to  '22.  'Squire  Boone,'  on  the  23d  of 
7th  mo.  1720,  (was  son  of  the  1st  George  Boone,)  was  uni 
ted  in  marriage  to  Sarah  Morgan,  and  the  records  of  the 

').  C,  Mr.  Biddle,  looking  over  l\e  papers  one  day,  remarked  that 
'these  Boones  all  appeared  to  ha*  ebeen  Episcopalians."  "OJi,  ves," 
replied  Miss  Boone,  "they  were  all  High  Church  people,"  adding 
thai  "most  of  them  becauie  Qua'  )r8  out  of  compliment  to  Peni 
ftnd  his  successors." 


20  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

meeting  show,  that  they  had  the  following  children,  to  wit 
8arah,  born  1724,  Israel  in  1726,  Samuel  in  1728,  Jonathan 
in  1730,  Elizabeth  in  1732,  Daniel,  the  22d  of  8th  mo.,  1734 
Mary,  born  in  1736,  George  in  1739,  and  Edward  in  1740. 
These  last  alone  are  taken  from  the  records  of  monthly 
meetings  at  Exeter  in  Berks  Co.,  about  9  miles  south  from 
Reading,  Penn.  The  above  Daniel,  is  the  Col.  Daniel. 
James  Boone  was  a  distinguished  mathematician,  about  the 
rear  1770,  as  some  of  his  professional  papers  still  show. 
He  wrote  some  family  pedigree,  which  is  now  with  that  last 
son  in  Missouri.  Richard,  a  large  iron  master,  (and  his 
brother  Samuel)  now  live  near  Reading,  and  their  sister 
Sally  lives  in  Exeter.  Ruppe's  History  of  Berks  and  Leb- 
anon, says  several  families  of  Friends  settled  in  this  towh- 
ship,  (Oley)  as  early  as  1713  or  1715,  and  that  George 
Boone,  a  native  of  England,  took  out  a  warrant  of  400  acres 
of  land  in  1718  in  this  township,  (meaning  Oley.)  The  re- 
cords of  Friends  concerning  Boone,  stop  with  the  year  1748, 
as  being  about  that  time  pretty  much  out  of  meeting. 
In  1747,  Israel  Boone,  eldest  son  of  Squire  Boone,  was  dis- 
owned for  marrying  out  of  meeting,  and  on  26th  of  3d  mo., 
1748,  Squire  Boone  himself  is  disowned  for  countenancing 
such  marriage.  About  this  time  he  must  have  emigrated 
with  his  flimily  to  Holomant  Ford,  on  the  Yadkin  River, 
North  Carolina ;  because  the  North  Carolinian  history  of 
Boone  Co.,  talks  of  Daniel  as  coming  there  a  child,  but  I 
infer  rather  a  lad  of  13  or  14  years.  The  name  'Squire' 
is  in  all  places  given  in  place  of  baptismal  name,  and  I  saw 
nothing  to  indicate  him  as  in  the  magistracy." 

The  evidence  from  the  compositions  of  the  Forest 
Statesman,  wIicd   he   had  occasion  to  resort  to  the 


SCHOOL-BOY    DATS.  21 

written  language,  in  which  to  communicate  his  idoaa 
to  his  fellow-men,  is  that  his  education,  in  the  techni 
cal  and  school  sense  of  the  term,  was  very  simple 
and  incomplete.  Grammar  and  orthography  wero 
not  his  household  deities.  He  expressed  his  meaning, 
taking  his  road  to  it  over  every  obstacle  of  spelling 
or  sentence  that  chanced  in  his  way.  The  school  was 
just  such  an  one  as  the  frontier  settlements  would  be 
likely  to  possess.  Logs  were  the  material  most  avail- 
able for  dwelling,  fort,  or  school,  and  the  order  of  ar- 
chitecture was  severe  in  its  simplicity.  It  was  but 
one  of  the  seven  lamps  of  architecture  that  blazed  in 
the  forest.  The  right-angle  was  to  the  settler  pos- 
sessed of  the  beauty  wliich  Hogarth  ascribed  to  the 
curve,  for  it  had  simplicity,  convenience  and  strength. 
The  school-house  at  wliich  Daniel  Boone  was  an  at- 
tendant was  of  the  square  form  —  the  windows,  a  mere 
hole  cut  in  the  logs  to  admit  the  light  —  a  chimney, 
huge  in  utter  disproportion,  on  one  oide,  and  the  art 
of  the  rude  mason  evinced  only  in  the  alternate  lay 
ers  of  log  and  clay.  'No  luxury  ol  cushions,  or  pa- 
tent seats,  or  easy-angled  desks,  favored  the  children 
of  that  time.  Their  minds  were  taught  in  the  midst 
of  privation  ;  and  to  submit  to  the  roughness  and  in- 
convenience of  life  was  the  discipline  which  prepared 
those  who  attended  them  to  go  out  and  "  make  the 
rough  places  smooth."  All  that  education  set  before 
it8  guests,  were  the  great  dishes  of  the  feast  of  learn- 


22  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   liOONE. 

1*112  — but  the  artist  had  no  skill  in  their  preparation 
The  school  was  to  be  passed  through  as  an  ordeal,  ra 
thei  than  lingered  in  as  a  privilege. 

To  read  was  taught,  but  it  was  more  as  the  median 
ical  utterance  of  the  words  —  to  write,  but  with  char- 
acters whose  size,  more  than  grace,  was  consulted  — 
to  cypher,  the  problems  as  simple  as  for  which  a  ru- 
ral trade  could  furnish  the  example.  But  they  who 
graduated  at  such  chairs,  went  thence  to  write  with 
glittering  axe  and  sword  their  names  and  history  and 
purposes  in  forests — to  read  the  emotions  and  pas- 
sions and  will  of  crafty  and  dangerous  foes,  or  the 
true  destinies  of  an  advancing  country  —  to  use  their 
arithmetic  in  estimating  the  resources  of  arms,  the 
chances  of  battle,  the  results  of  harvest.  The  schol- 
ar and  the  merchant  were  always  behind  them,  wait- 
ing the  time  of  safe  adventure. 

.  But  among  the  brief  library  of  that  school,  their 
text  books  were  few  indeed.  There  was  one  in  which, 
in  all  probability,  as  it  was  part  of  the  routine  of 
study,  Boone  was  taught,  whose  lessons  came  to  hirr 
m  the  mighty  solitudes  of  his  after  years.  A  lonely 
man  —  a  companion  of  the  stately  trees  —  away  from 
home  and  the  vices  of  the  race,  the  heavens  above 
him  seemed  nearer  than  to  us,  who  are  forever  at- 
tracted by  the  crowd  around  us  ;  ar.d  the  prom]:>ting8 
of  admiration,  of  veneration,  and  of  simple  faith, 
may  have  come  up  w  his  memory  from  tlie  teach ingg 


80H00L-B0Y    DAYS.  23 

of  the  simple  lessons  of  tlie  school-house,  with  chetT- 
ing  and  consoling  power.  Boone's  "  schooling"  wa? 
soon  over.  Tlie  times  left  astute  scholarship  to  the 
far-off  cities  of  the  Old  World.  Tlie  frontier  men 
had  other  and  bolder  pursuits. 

Around  the  schcol-house  was  the  material  for  learn 
ing  to  an  illimitable  extent.  The  woods  opened  their 
recesses  to  the  hunter,  in  which  he  could  acquiie  all 
the  mysteries  of  forest  craft ;  and  Boone  found  in 
these  scenes  pursuits  most  congenial.  Pennsylvania, 
in  the  policy  pursued  by  its  founder,  had  not  fought 
its  dominion  inch  by  inch,  from  the  savage ;  but  his 
doctrines  had  not  quite  as  successfully  reached  the 
frontier,  as  they  had  been  prevalent  at  the  seat  of 
government.  The  Indian  was  regarded,  even  by  the 
most  sensible  and  best  judging  of  the  settlers,  as  an 
incumbrance  —  as  of  a  class  of  men  who  occupied 
land,  the  value  of  which  they  did  not  realize,  and  of 
which  they  made  most  imperfect  use.  But  those  who 
looked  thus  upon  them  were  the  few.  The  many  con- 
sidered the  Indian  as  a  foe  —  as  treacherous  —  never 
to  be  trusted,  and  ready  to  destroy  whenever  oppor- 
tunity offered  ;  and  thus  a  fitting  subject  for  the 
prowess  and  might  of  the  white  man.  The  woods 
were  common  ground  to  each.  As  the  Indian  eithei 
could  not  or  would  not  acquire  the  habit  of  the  set- 
tler, the  latter  applied  himself  to  acquire  the  cun- 
ning and  the  strategy  of  the  forest  men.     The  settlei 


24  LIFE    OF    DANIKL    DOONE. 

watched  the  niovements  of  the  savages,  to  learn  the 
means  hy  which  sucli  accurate  knowledge  of  pathway 
and  retreat,  and  fastness  and  cave  and  glen  —  of  the 
most  minnte  hahits  of  the  wild  heast — of  all  that 
pertained  to  forest  life,  was  obtained  ;  —  and  in  this 
school,  Daniel  Boone  sprnng  at  once  to  superior  schol- 
arship. The  rifle  was,  in  his  hand,  nnerring  as  the 
bow  of  Kobin  Hood.  He  learned  lessons  of  the  snow 
and  the  leaves  and  the  moss,  and  to  detect,  with  quick 
eye,  the  tread  of  foot  —  to  rival  the  sagacity  of  the 
hound,  or  what  was  as  intense  in  its  accuracy  —  the 
cunning  of  the  Indian  warrior. 

It  has  been  professed  by  some  who  have  written  of 
the  bold  Boone,  to  invest  his  cliildhood  and  school 
days  with  incidents  of  strange  interest.  It  would  be 
gratifying  to  be  able,  with  a  regard  to  that  without 
which  a  biography  is  but  a  fable,  so  to  do.  But 
Boone's  heroic  character  was  made  by  circumstances. 
The  strong  workings  of  after  life  developed  the  man. 
The  training  for  that  life  began  in  the  rough  expe- 
riences of  the  border.  Above  all,  the  life  of  the  wood- 
!nan  taught  the  boy  self-reliance.  It  gave  him  to 
know  wdiat  a  treasure  he  held  in  his  own  energies, 
and  showed  him  that  when  he  had  a  work  tO  do,  him- 
self was,  of  all  others,  the  best  craftsman.  A  better 
echool,  a  more  varied  learning,  would  have  been  in- 
consistent with  the  pioneer  destiny  that  was  in  store 
for  him.     He  was  to  see  the  State,  while  as  yet  it  had 


THE    BOY-HUNTER.  25 

I  It  i)io  physical  material  of  its  <j:rcatness,  and  hel.ad 
tt.  do  with  the  realities  of  life,  iniaftected  and  uncol- 
ored  by  such  impulses  as  law  and  civilization  were  to 
hrii:g.  T\\e  mighty  hunter  has  been  the  founder  of  a 
great  city.  The  power  of  using  to  the  best  advantage 
all  that  is  around  us,  can  be  brought  into  use,  not 
alone  for  the  things  of  eyery-day  life,  but  for  the  pro- 
duction of  the  strong  features  of  the  incidents  of  ex- 
istence. 

Boone  was  soon  a  hunter.  The  stories  of  his  prow- 
ess m  this  department  of  action  are  many.  It  is  re- 
lated of  him,  that  he  soon  deserted  the  farm-house  of 
his  father,  and  established  for  himself  a  cabin  in  tlie 
woods,  decorated  with  the  spoils  of  the  chase — that 
he  faced  fearlessly  the  fiercer  wild  beasts  that  prowled 
around  —  and  that  men  stepped  back  to  contemplate, 
with  more  than  ordinary  wonder,  the  daring  of  a  boy, 
who  had  so  soon  in  life  won  a  name  among  his  peo- 
ple, by  acts  of  skill  and  courage.  The  school  of  the 
forest  found  him  a  proficient,  and  he  had  attained  a 
reputation  fitting  him  for  leadership,  when  he  was 
called  to  that  characteristic  American  experience  — 
the  seeking  out  a  new  home. 

Squire  Boone  had  determined  upon  removing  frona 
Pennsylvania.  It  is  proba»^le  that  he  was  influenced 
bo  his  destination,  by  reports  of  the  region  of  moun- 
tain land  in  North  Carolina,  which  reached  him  while 
on  a  visit  to  his  relatives  in  Maryland,  tl^'s  larere 
B 


26  LIFE   OF   DAI^IEL    BOONE. 

family  would  find,  in  a  State  still  more  sparsely  set 
tied  than  Pennsylvania,  greater  facilities  for  acquiring* 
the  means  of  support ;  nor  is  it  likely  that  the  teach- 
ings and  example  of  the  adventurer,  who  was  one  of 
his  own  sons,  was  without  efiect.  The  country  arounJ 
Heading  had  become  familiar  to  young  Boone^  and 
he,  in  all  probability,  gladly  seconded  the  proposal  to 
Beek  a  larger  sphere  of  action.  From  his  friends  in 
Maryland,  he  might  obtain  the  information  of  the 
pleasanter  climate  and  richer  land  of  the  Old  North 
State. 

Boone  had  now  arrived  at  the  age  when  reflection 
often  comes  to  give  new  value  to  the  vigor  and  joyous 
character  of  the  boy.  Eighteen  is  one  of  the  eras  in 
life.  He  had  been  already  inured  to  hunger  and  toil, 
and  was  of  all  his  father's  good  company  of  boys, 
likely  to  be  the  most  useful. 

The  pilgrimage  of  the  family  must  have  been  one 
of  vivid  interest.  Traversing  Maryland  and  Virginia, 
the  scenes  which  opened  to  the  mind  of  young  Boone 
ga\e  him  deep  thought  of  what  was  open  to  the  bold 
and  adventurous.  He  realized  in  every  stage  of  the 
journey,  what  value  his  knowledge  of  the  woodman's 
life  was  to  him,  an^^  how  strong  it  made  him  in  ser- 
vice to  his  father;  buL.it  never  presented  itself,  even 
to  his  fancy,  with  what  avidity  a  great  nation  would, 
in  after  years,  read  the  most  minute  details  of  thig 
progress,  if  it  could  be  gathered  up  wiih  accuracy. 


CHAPTER    II. 

VBW  HOME     IN    THE  OLD  NORTH    STATE MARRIAGE    OF    DANIEI   BO^NB    W 

REBECCA  BRYAN BOONE,  WITH  HIS   BRIDE,   CROSSES  THE   VALLEY  OF  TBI 

fADKIN,   AND  BUILDS    HIS    CABIN OTHER  SETTLERS BOONE    SHUNB  SO, 

CLETY DETERMINES  TO  REMOVE  WEST  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  DE  SOT  ) 

INDIAN  TRIBES PREVAILING  IGNORANCE    OF  THE    COUNTRY  WEST  OF  THE 

MOUNTAINS CHARACTER  OF    BOONE AN  INCIDENT  OF    HIS    OLD  AGE  — 

TflE  COLONIAL  SYSTEM ITS  RESULTS. 

As  his  first  home  liad  been  on  the  head-waters  of 
the  Schuylkill,  his  new  residence  was  found  near  the 
Sonth  Yadkin,  a  river  which,  taking  its  rise  among 
the  mountains  that  form  the  western  country  of  Korth 
Carolina,  runs  in  a  south-east  direction,  cutting  the 
State,  and  thence  through  ^  outh  Carolina,  finds  its 
way  to  the  ocean,  a  little  to  the  northward  of  the 
mouth  of  the  Santee. 

He  became  a  citizen  of  North  Carohna  about  the 
year  1753.  This  was  a  period  in  the  history  of  our 
country  when  a  character  was  forming  whose  influ- 
ences were  to  affect  the  welfare  of  the  forthcom- 
ing Eepublic  with  a  power  which,  in  its  force, 
we  can  never  estimate  rightly.  With  Braddock, 
Washington  was  learning  the  art  of  war,  and  acqui- 
ring that  great  military  knowledge  which  intelligent 


28  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

Iiistorians  now  concede  belong  to  liim,  in  a  degree  fit- 
ting his  greatness.  Had  it  been  Boone's  lot  to  have 
been  by  his  side  in  that  campaign,  with  the  rifle  sg 
unerring  in  its  aim,  familiar  with  the  battle  rather 
than  with  the  chase,  npon  a  mind  so  resolute,  what 
might  not  such  an  event  have  graven !  But  it  was  his  to 
be  the  master  in  another  strife,  and  to  accomplish  for 
his  country  results  following,  in  their  fullness  of  suc- 
cess, most  properly  upon  the  victories  won  and  peace 
established,  to  which  Washington  gave  his  strength. 
The  journey  which  Washington,  acting  under  the 
orders  of  Lord  Dunmore,  the  Governor  of  Virginia, 
was  at  this  time  pursuing  —  passing  as  it  did  through 
a  wild  and  weary  land  —  a  wilderness,  and  one  where 
danger  threaded  each  footstep  —  was  coincident  with 
that  which  the  family  of  Boone  made.  Both  marked 
the  noon  of  the  century,  by  the  keen  and  scrutinizing 
observation  of  a  bold  mind,  upon  the  characteristics 
and  incidents  of  a  new  country.  The  emigrant  fam- 
ily, bound  to  the  mountain  land  of  North  Carolina, 
and  the  gallant  young  Virginian,  were  serving  the 
yet  unknown  Republic,  and  the  results  of  their  mem- 
orable journeys  are  with  us. 

In  this  home  of  his  father,  Boone  grew  to  man- 
hood, and  pursuing  the  life  which  belonged  to  bold 
men  —  for  he  could  pursue  no  other.  lie  *vas  yet  a 
private  citizen,  filling  lo  place  which  brought  his 
name  into  record  or  a  ^ive.     The  far-ott  stir  of  the 


MARRIAGE    OF    BOONE.  2& 

conflict  of  Enghind  and  France,  died  awaj  before  it 
reached  that  mountain  hind.  It  was  not  yet  the  time 
for  the  pulses  of  the  Old  Korth  State  to  be  aroused 
When,  in  after  years,  that  time  came,  history  tells 
with  what  patriotic  strength  the  Carolinian  avouched 
his  love  for  freedom  by  daring  deeds.  Boone  had  the 
pursuit  of  farmer  and  hunter  to  combine.  In  all 
probability,  he  had  his  chief  acquaintance  with  wood 
craft,  and  while  he  pursued  the  labor  of  the  agricul- 
turist, found  in  the  wild  chase  of  the  mountain  a  pur- 
suit to  wdiich  his  heart  beat  in  quick  response.  The 
country  around  his  father's  house  found  other  occu- 
pants, and  among  them  was  the  family  of  Mr.  Bryan 
-  even  to  this  day  an  honored  name  in  Carolina. 
With  all  his  disposition  to  rove  about,  Boone  found 
that  his  affections  had  susceptibility  kindred  to  those 
of  other  men,  and  in  a  daughter  of  his  father's  neigh- 
bor—  Eebecca  Bryan  —  he  won  a  bride,  and  hence- 
forth is  to  be  considered  as  separating  his  history  from 
that  of  his  father. 

There  is  a  very  clever  romance  told  about  an  ad- 
venture of  the  wooing  of  Boone,  in  which  he  came 
most  unluckily  near  to  a  very  sudden  termination  of 
his  fair  Eebecca's  existence,  by  mistaking  her  bright 
eyes  for  those  of  a  deer.  The  error  was  fortunately 
discovered  in  time,  probably,  to  allow  him  to  assure 
her  tliat  she  was  a  dear —  the  3rthography  making  all 
fjie  difference  in  the  world.     Unfortunately,  the  inci 


;50  LIFE   OF   DANIEL    BOCNE. 

dent  never  occurred  —  nor  was  it  likely  to  (  cciir.  A 
good  hunter,  such  as  Boone,  would  make  no  such  er 
ror,  Rebecca,  in  those  days,  would  have  been  far 
more  likely  to  have  deemed  her  lover  very  absurd,  to 
have  thus  been  deceived,  ^nd  to  have  doubted  his 
Bkill. 

In  tracing  out  Boone's  history,  such  romances  are 
to  be  thrown  aside  at  every  step.  It  has  been  of  ma- 
ny  of  the  years  of  his  life,  that  the  biographer  seems 
to  have  taken  the  course  of  Scott.  On  one  occasion, 
G.  P.  R.  James,  on  a  visit  to  Abbotsford,  was  by  the 
depth  of  snow  detained  for  a  number  of  days.  In 
all  that  period.  Sir  Walter's  powers  of  anecdote  and 
reminiscence  seemed  inexhaustible.  Mr.  James  could 
not  at  last  restrain  his  amazement,  and  asked  the  nov- 
elist where  he  possibly  could  Und  all  the  incidents  he 
was  relating.  "  Oh,"  said  Scott,  archly,  "  my  mem- 
ory is  pretty  good,  and  when  that  fails  me  in  a  story, 
why,  then  J  just  mak!  oneP  The  life  of  Boone,  till 
he  left  his  home,  has  needed  the  imagination  rather 
than  the  archive.  And  yet,  peaceful  and  regular  as 
the  farmer-hunter  passed  his  days,  all  this  time  was 
occupied  in  the  formation  of  character,  in  acquiring 
the  patient  energy  which,  having  calculated  the  cost, 
builds  its  edifice  throughout.  He  was  in  the  pursuits 
of  life  for  himself  and  the  being  that  had  left  her 
home  to  share  life  with  him.  It  would  be  an  inter 
(wting  studj   in  the  philosophy  of  action,  t(»  inve*ti 


mS    HOME    ON    THE    YADKIN.  31 

gate  the  probability  of  the  plans  formed  by  him,  while 
he  was  a  farmer  on  the  Yadkin  —  for  in  the  progress 
of  the  movement  which  the  rule  so  excellent  in  the 
formation  of  a  country  prescribed,  that  towards  a 
separate  home,  he  traversed  the  Yadkin  valley,  at  a 
locality  still  more  remote  from  the  seaboard  and  near- 
er the  mountain  —  thus  indicating,  in  renewed  in- 
stance, his  attachment  for  the  wild  and  forest  side  of 
nature.  Here  he  placed  his  cabin.  Its  fire-light 
shone  in  welcome  to  the  rare  stranger  who  found  that 
river  side.  This  rude  home  was  his,  to  whom  a  na- 
tion was  to  rear  marble  niemorial.  It  was  a  true 
home  for  him.  In  its  solitudes  he  could  find  the  voice 
of  the  wood  speaking  to  him  in  the  language  of 
the  seasons,  of  which  he  had  been  so  long  a  success- 
ful scholar. 

He  was  not  to  remain  always  thus  solitary.  The 
same  causes  which  sent  him  from  his  childhood's 
home,  urged  many  other  young  men  to  the  new  land 
and  fresh  air  —  to  the  game  and  the  hunt  —  and  the 
population  around  him  soon  increased.  The  lands 
along  the  Yadkin  attracted  the  notice  of  other  set- 
tlers, and  young  Boone  found  the  smoke  of  his  cabiL 
fire  no  longer  the  only  one  that  floated  into  the  air 
of  the  valley.  His  fields  were  bounded  and  meas- 
ured and  determined,  and  the  inconveniences  of  civ 
ilization  and  of  society  presented  themselves.  Thes< 
accessii  ns  of  companionship,  however  congenial  U 


82  Ln^E    OF    DAJS'IEL    BOONE. 

the  greatest  part  of  mankindj  wlio  rather  rush  to 
gether  than  keep  aloof  from  each  other,  did  not  suit 
Boone.  All  his  subsequent  history  shows  that  he  had 
no  attachment  for  the  perpetual  society  of  humanity. 
He  had  left  his  father  because  there  was  not  room  and 
v^erge  enough  for  him  where  Squire  Boone  gathered 
each  day  his  numerous  family,  and  he  could  not  fiiil 
to  discover  that  men  each  day  the  more  disj^uted  his 
sole  tenancy  of  the  valley.  Most  men  would  have 
seen  each  neighbor  with  satisfaction,  and  watched 
the  progress  of  the  "settlement"  towards  that  period 
when  it  should  enjoy  the  full  measure  of  learning  and 
law  that  the  thronged  population  brings,  with  delight. 
The  heart  of  man,  answering  each  to  the  other,  is  to 
the  great  material  of  which  manlvind  are  made  up,  a 
comfort  and  a  solace.  The  bolder  spirit  of  Boone  was 
destined  for  other  uses.  He  had  in  him  the  desire  to 
wield  the  power  of  governing,  though  his  mind  might 
not  have  itself  framed  such  purpose  or  plan  ;  —  but 
there  is  power  in  loneliness,  for  the  man  is  then  no- 
bler than  all  else  around  him.  Boone  was  soon  con 
Kcious  that  his  time  on  the  Yadkin  was  to  be  limited. 
The  circumstances  defining  that  limitation  soon  man 
ifested  themselves. 

The  fields  for  adventure  lay  within  his  reach.  The 
mountains  were  to  be  crossed,  and  a  new  and  unex- 
plored country  was  all  before  the  hunter  where  to 
ohoose.     Of  all  this  country,  the  wildest  stories  were 


THE    WILDKKNKSS    WEST.  35 

related.  It  was  invested  with  every  beauty,  every 
danger,  every  incident  that  could  amuse  the  imagina- 
tion or  quicken  action.  It  was  easy  to  do  this,  Ijc- 
cause  nothing  whatever  was  known  of  it.  There  rose 
the  mountain,  high  and  difficult  in  itself,  a  barrier  to 
every  other  progress  than  such  as  might  belong  to  the 
boldest  enterprise.  The  population  of  the  seaboard 
region  were  content  for  a  long  series  of  years  to  be- 
lieve all  that  an  utter  ignorance  created,  of  the  wild 
peril  of  the  wilderness.  The  only  traveler  there  was 
the  Indian,  and  in  his  reputation  was  sufficient  cer- 
tificate for  the  timid  to  rest  at  the  distance.  Of  no- 
ble rivers  and  tremendous  forests,  the  Indian  gave  a 
brief  mention  —  enough  only  to  be  the  theme  of  the 
story  of  the  w^inter  for  the  settler  on  the  frontier. 
The  Indian  invited  no  visitor,  except  by  the  promise 
of  life  worn  out  by  an  imprisonment  among  tribes, 
who  bore  no  pleasant  promise  of  much  kindness  in 
their  ferocity.  Beyond  the  mountain  was  the  indefi- 
nite world  for  the  future.  Some  of  the  frontier  men 
knew  that  its  discovery  and  exploration  and  subiuga- 
tion  would  assuredly  come,  but  the  difficulty  and 
danger  seemed  more  abundant  than  the  good  to  be 
realized,  even  by  success.  They  waited  w^ith  impa- 
tience the  movement  that  should  lead  the  way  —  and 
the  day  for  that  movement  approached  steadily  and 
surely. 

When  De  Soto  w^as  called  to  finish  his  wonderfu^ 


^  LD^E   OF   DANIEL    BOCNE. 

car6^  "  when  that  great  man,  after  trarersltg  with  a 
£eal  ihzn  was  illustrious  by  all  its  qualities,  the  lands  of 
the  South,  came  to  his  death,  it  is  of  record  that  lest  thia 
Bad  eF€wt  should  prostrate  the  completion  of  his  great 
plans  ot  enterprise,  "  his  body  was  wrapped  in  a  man 
tie,  and  in  the  stillness  of  midnight,  was  silently  sunk 
in  the  mitidle  of  the  stream.  The  discoverer  of  the 
Mississij)pi  slept  beneath  its  waters.  He  crossed  the 
continent  Iti  search  of  gold,  and  found  nothing  so  re- 
markable as  his  burial  place."  The  Mississippi  was 
his  monument. 

And  he  was  but  one  of  a  band  of  noble-hearted 
men  who,  with  resistless  energy,  gave  pathways  to 
the  wilderness,  and  passed  through  all  the  fearful  ad- 
ventures of  savage  life,  with  a  courage  which  was 
more  than  that  ot  the  warrior,  who  in  the  excitements 
of  fierce  battle  forgets  danger.  Marquette  and  La 
Salle  have  left  their  traces  on  the  history  of  the  land, 
and  will  never  be  forgotten. 

We  approach  the  period  when  Boone's  life  really 
began — that  life  which  is  forming  a  page  of  useful- 
**ess  in  his  country's  annals —  a  fame  which  will  bear 
to  be  heralded  when  others,  more  notorious,  and  far 
less  worthy,  will  be  silenced. 

In  the  developments  of  the  age,  the  mountain 
ridge  was  to  cease  to  be  a  barrier,  and  the  long  em- 
pire of  the  savage  over  the  rich  West  came  to  its  last 
years, —  and  if  their  old  wise-men  had  possessed  but 


TUE    WILUEKNESS    WEST.  61 

a  tithe  of  the  skill  they  boasted,  there  won  d  have 
been  signs  of  blood  and  disaster  in  their  prophetic 

Even  at  this  hf^nr,  there  are  portions  of  onr  conti- 
nent,  the  state  of  pnblic  knowledge  in  respect  to 
whioh  will  allow  us  to  realize  fully  what  was  the 
shadowy  information,  the  conjecture,  not  the  result, 
which  the  Carolinians  possessed  of  the  West,  as  that 
comprehensive  term  was  in  use  at  that  time.  What 
do  we  know  of  the  far-off  and  cold  lands  that  form 
that  empire,  so  vast  in  mere  territory  —  British  Amer- 
ica !  The  hunter  and  the  fur  trader  give  the  statistics 
of  trails  and  scattered  lodges,  but  of  its  topography, 
the  map  and  the  history  are  content  to  give  the  most 
vague  and  general  statements.  Beyond  the  mountain, 
all  was  of  the  same  uncertain  pattern. 

Indeed,  it  was  a  bold  and  daring  deed  to  reach  that 
mouiitain,  even  on  its  eastern  side.  The  hunters,  of 
whom  unquestionably  Boone  w^as  one,  and  probably 
the  boldest  and  the  most  acute  in  his  pursuit,  ven- 
tured each  season  deeper  into  the  forest.  The  step  of 
the  white  man  was  following  fast  on  that  of  the  In- 
dian, and  it  left  no  uncertain  tread.  Along  the  Clinch 
Eiverandthe  Holston  Kiver,  hunting  parties  pursued 
their  way  ;  and  as  they  went,  the  mysteries  of  forest 
life  o-rew  more  familiar.  Boone  learned,  even  bettei 
than  ijefore,  that  neither  roof  nor  house  nor  bed  were 
the  necessaries  of  Hfe.    The  forest  could  be  made  to 


56  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

give  all  these.  The  forest  found  food  also  ;  and  thes* 
great  points  ascertained,  the  conviction  of  safety  set- 
tled in  the  mind,  the  courage  and  the  resolution  were 
there  also,  and  their  practical  workings  made  them- 
selves every  day  more  and  more  manifest. 

In  the  way  of  all  far  exploration,  however,  a  ^eai 
difficulty  presented  itself,  in  effect  much  more  formi 
dable  than  was  the  peril  of  the  forest,  or  the  barrier 
of  the  mountain.  The  frontier  men  knew  what  it 
was  to  dread  the  predatory  warfare  of  the  Indian, 
The  homes  of  the  mountain  land  of  Korth  Carolina, 
now  the  abode  of  peaceful  and  industrious  farmers, 
quiet  and  unmoved,  and  far  remote  from  the  perils  of 
6av3.ge  life,  were  not  always  thus.  The  inhabitants 
along  the  Yadkin,  and  scattered  up  to  the  region  of 
the  Holston  and  Clinch,  were  compelled  to  exercise 
due  caution  against  the  incursions  of  the  Cherokee. 
The  paths  of  the  forest  they  could  tread  successfully, 
where  the  white  man  could  only  find  an  uncertain 
journeying.  To  them  the  woods  were  the  home  of 
a  lifetime,  and  they  used  their  knowledge  to  the  pur- 
poses of  warfare  for  a  series  of  years.  The  people  of 
those  days  have  long  since  found  their  graves,  but  il 
the  traditions  of  Ashe,  and  Wilkes,  and  Yancey,  and 
Surrey,  and  Caldwell,  and  Haywood  were  thoroughly 
>rought  to  lio:ht,  it  miHit  be  found  that  the  event lul 
era  which  just  preceded  the  opening  of  the  West  to 
the  wanderings  of  the  settlers,  was  thronged  with  all 


EXTRACT   FKOM   JUDGE    MARSHALL.  37 

the  inoidents  of  Tndian  f^ray  and  Indian  border  \\  ra 
This  disturbed  condition  of  the  country  kept  back  eu 
terprise.  It  was  one  thing  to  go  out  with  the  expec- 
tation of  meeting  one's  ^vorst  foe  in  the  wild  beast 
and  quite  another  to  risk  the  encounter  with  the  sav 
age,  whose  every  passion  was  excited  by  the  fact 
which  even  his  immature  mind  received,  that  the 
men  who  had  made  a  home  for  themselves  in  this  wild, 
part  of  the  Carolinas,  would  not  always  regard  the 
mountain  as  an  insurmountable  barrier. 

The  language  of  John  Marshall  has  faithfully  de- 
lineated the  impression  cherished  by  the  people  of  the 
frontier,  in  respect  to  the  country  that  lay  beyond. 
To  them  it  was  a  perpetual  desire  to  go  in  and  possess 
it,  but  they  were  deterred  by  their  want  of  any  know 
ledge  of  what  it  really  was.  The  change  to  us,  who 
view  that  country  in  these  days,  when  not  a  century 
has  elapsed,  is  wonderful.  It  is  the  contrast  between 
a  wilderness  and  an  empire.  Traversed  by  all  possi- 
ble modes  of  conveyance  —  the  wild  beast  a  specta- 
cle and  a  show  —  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  civili- 
zation on  all  sides  —  it  is  hard  to  credit  the  annals  of 
obscurity,  of  caution,  of  doubt  and  difficulty  that  are 
before  us,  in  the  histories  of  the  period  when  Boone 
«ras  preparing  to  become  the  first  successful  and  per- 
severing  occupant  of  the  new  country.  Judge  Mar 
glial]  says : 


88  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

"The  country  bevonr!  tho  Ciimhorland  mo-antain,  still  (in 
17t)T)  appeared  to  the  dusky  view  of  the  generality  of  the 
people  of  Virginia,  almost  as  obscure  and  doubtful,  as  Aniei 
ica  itself  to  the  people  of  Europe,  before  the  voyage  of  Co- 
lumbus. A  country  there  was  —  of  this  none  could  doubt, 
who  thought  at  all ;  but  whether  land  or  water,  mountain  or 
plain,  fertility  or  barrenness,  preponderated  —  whether  in- 
habited  by  men  or  beasts,  or  both,  or  neither,  they  knew 
not.  If  inhabited  by  men,  they  were  supposed  to  be  In- 
dians,—  for  such  had  always  infested  the  frontiers.  And 
this  had  been  a  powerful  reason  for  not  exploring  the  region 
west  of  the  great  mountain,  which  concealed  Kentucky  from 
heir  sight." 

In  the  movements  of  men,  it  is  very  rarely  that 
even  those  actions  which,  by  their  consequences,  and 
the  magnitude  to  which,  when  once  begun,  they  grow, 
a^e  the  result  of  a  design  "  to  do  some  great  thing  " 
—  but  arising  from  some  cause  connected  with  the 
personal  relation,  either  in  the  desire  to  render  the 
condition  in  life  more  agreeable,  or  to  give  strength 
or  pleasure  to  the  social  tie,  their  beginning,  being  in 
the  ordinary  routine  of  affair,  is  forgotten. 

It  may  be  doubted  whether,  if  the  opinions  gener- 
ally received  of  Daniel  Boone  were  true,  he  would 
have  been  the  pioneer  of  Kentucky.  Until  his  his 
tory  was  closely  investigated,  he  was  classed  with  tlie 
wild  huntsman  —  the  Indian  fighter  —  the  man  of 
border  foraj  —  a  link  between  the  savage  and  tlie  set 


39 

tier.  His  real  character  was  not  this.  Mild  and 
Bimple-hearted  —  steady,  not  impulsive  in  courage  — 
buid  and  determined,  but  always  rather  inclined  to 
defend  than  attack  —  he  stood  immeasurably  above 
that  wretched  class  of  men,  who  are  so  often  the  pre- 
liminaries of  civilization.  Boone  deliberately  chose 
the  peace  of  solitude,  rather  than  to  mingle  in  the 
wild  wranglings  and  disputings  of  the  society  around 
him.  This  is  the  key  to  his  movement  in  quitting  the 
Yadkin  and  his  home  thereon.  He  had  his  distinc- 
tive character.  It  was  plain  and  simple  —  not  so, 
alone  when  the  depths  of  a  forest  home  made  such 
regimen  but  a  necessity,  but  when  he  was  surrounded 
by  kind  and  ministering  friends,  the  same  habit  con- 
tinued. He  had  the  great  habit  of  simplicity  within 
him  —  a  quality  of  mind  which  seems  most  easy  to 
maintain,  and  yet  in  its  purity  is  among  the  most  ex- 
traordinary and  difficult. 

This  concentration,  within  a  small  limit  of  his  de- 
sires, remained  to  old  age  —  and  it  is  but  illustrating 
his  life  on  the  borders  of  Carolina,  to  allude  to  the 
incident  which  an  eminent  artist  narrates,  that  when 
he  visited  the  great  pioneer,  the  very  year  of  hia 
death,  when  the  decrepitude  of  old  age  was  upon  him, 
tlie  veteran,  swinging  in  his  cot,  toasted  on  his  ram- 
rod a  slice  of  venison  —  his  long  life  not  teaching  him 
to  forego  the  simplicity  of  his  earlier  habit.  He 
found  in  the  forest  and  in  the  chase,  scenes  and  ad- 


40  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

ventures  that  talked  with  him,  in  a  language  unsal 
lied  by  the  wretchedness  of  duplicity,  and  fraud,  and 
petty  scheming,  or  successful  cunning,  that  soon  made 
their  appearance  in  the  region  about  him  ;  and  he 
could  not  reconcile  himself  to  the  manner  in  Avhich 
human  law  determined  the  variances.  There  seemed 
to  be  too  much  of  form,  and  not  enough  of  the  dis' 
tinct  and  plain  equities  of  a  just  judgment,  about  it 
all.  Boone  was  a  reformer,  just  so  far  as  to  discover 
errors  in  the  framework  of  society  around  him  ;  but 
lie  was  disposed  rather  to  avoid  than  to  correct  them. 
Iliose  who  perpetrated  the  wrong,  were  not  inclined 
to  regard  him  as  the  man  who  was  to  remodel  their 
ways,  and  he  sought  no  authority.  The  adventures 
of  the  forest  would  at  once  give  field  to  his  energies, 
and  take  him  away  from  scenes  which  he  felt  to  be 
adverse  to  his  own  simple-hearted  desire  to  do  kindly 
to  his  fellow  men. 

Tliere  were  circumstances  in  the  situation  of  that 
part  of  ^orth  Carolina  in  which  Boone  resided,  which 
led  to  his  departure  for  that  life  of  adventure  which 
has  made  his  name  memorable,  and  which  is  now  a 
precious  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  country. 

The  increasing  wealth  of  the  Scotch  settlers,  ac- 
quired by  their  unerring  sagacity,  soon  made  its  mark^ 
and  the  desire  to  outrival  each  other  in  the  luxuries 
of  life  was  everywhere  prevalent.  The  peaceful  cjuiet 
of  domestic  life  was  invaded  by  the  foe  within,  in  tli« 


GRIEVANCES    OF  THE   C0L0W1S1«.  41 

guise  of  a  jT^assion  fr.r  tlie  same  ornament  an(i  ilis 
play  wliicli  were  to  be  found  in  the  older  society  of 
tlie  seaboard.  The  mark  was  set  upon  those  who 
either  declined  to  follow  the  path  of  advancing  for- 
tune, or  were  unable  to  do  it  —  and  this  could  not  but 
make  its  impression  upon  society  ;  nor  could  it  fail  ol 
r3mark  from  Boone.  If  he  could  scarcely  bear  the 
artificial  restraints  of  custom  and  rule  in  ordinary 
times,  to  a  man  of  the  severe  simplicity,  which  was 
60  eminently  the  case  with  him,  the  fight  of  fashion 
was  too  sinfull.  It  made  him  uneasy  in  his  river- 
Ride  home,  and  he  looked  impatiently  beyond  the  hills 
for  a  refuge. 

There  were  circumstances  in  the  government  which 
rendered  this  more  unendurable.  The  parent  country 
sent  out  to  the  important  and  responsible  position  of 
governor  of  the  colony,  those  whose  sympathies  and 
associations  at  once  linked  in  with  those  who  affected 
a  tendency  towards  aristocratic  living,  and  this  oidy 
made  the  separation  of  the  two  classes  more  evident. 

But  the  grievance  was  destined  to  reach  the  people 
in  a  more  direct  manner.  The  ofiicers  of  the  courts 
oon  found  a  way  in  which  to  raise  their  fortunes,  by 
following  the  increase  in  the  cost  of  living  by  an 
augmentation  of  their  fees  and  perquisites.  Perhaps 
no  better  device  could  have  been  originated  to  arouse 
the  great  mass  of  the  people. 

To  authorize  the  collection  of  all  sums  over  fort^ 


42  LIFE   OF   DAIHEL  BOONE. 

Shillings  ic  a  court  of  record,  was  to  open  widely  the 
patli  to  a  most  extensive  litigation,  and  the  probable 
results  soon  followed.  It  was  a  harvest  fcr  the  law- 
yer and  the  clerk, — the  sheriff,  the  speculator^  and  the 
tax  gatherer  followed  with  ready  and  unrelenting 
footsteps. 

At  first  the  people  doubted  whether  their  wrongs 
could  last  for  any  other  period  than  as  a  brief  and 
rapidly  passing  trouble.  But  the  gloom  increased. 
The  people  petitioned  to  their  rulers,  but  the  sympa- 
thy of  these  was  all  with  those  who  were  far  more 
ready  to  seek  occasion  still  deeper  to  oppress  the  peo- 
ple, than  to  lighten  their  calamity.  Tlie  petitioners 
and  the  petitions  were  alike  treated  with  scorn. 

The  colonial  system  was  realizing  the  climax  of  its 
errors.     The  government  was  too  far  removed  from 
the  people,  and  the  open  rebellion  which  followed 
was  a  significant  type  of  the  more  extended  grasp  of 
power  by  the  people  themselves,  which  was  witnessed 
in  all  parts  of  the  colonies  but  few  years  afterwards. 
Taxation  is  a  power,  which,  even  in  its  wise  exercise, 
.    18  regarded  as  an  oppressive  necessity  ;  but  when  the 
avails  go  directly  to  the  benefit  of  all,  the  greater  good 
of  the  result  heals  all  the  trouble.     But  in  Carolina, 
the  taxes  emanated  from  a  class  of  men  who  were  in- 
imical by  position  and  circumstance  to  those  who 
were  compelled  to  pay,  and  to  whom  the  payment 
was  80  much  subtracted  from  the  necessities  of  lifa 


RESULTS  OF  THE  COLONIAL  SYSTEM. 


43 


fncleecL  to  inakc  a  climax,  tlie  very  collecting  sher 
iffs  augmented  the  taxes,  and  collecting,  rather  what 
they  chose  than  what  the  law  exacted,  plundered  the 
peDple  and  made  grain  of  their  neceswty. 


CflAPTEK    111. 

OHN   FINLEy's   visit  to  TENNESSEE    IN    1767 DR.    WALKEr's    EXP»  I  <•  *^# 

—  BOONe's  visit  to  the  HOLSTON  river BOONE  AND  FIVE  OTHERS   kO  fM 

WEST  OF  THE  CUMBERLAND    MOUNTAINS BOONe's  WIFE FILSON's    UFl 

OF  BOONE BOONK  AND  STEWART  TAKEN  PRISONERS    BY    THE   INDIANS  — 

ESCAPE THEY    FIND    THEIR   COMPANIONS    GONE —^  BOONE    AND  STEWART 

REMAIN  ALONE THE  NARRATIVE INDIAN  TREATIES FATE  OF  FINLEl 

SQUIRE     BOONE  ARRIVES  DEATH     OF     STEWART  BOONE     AND     Htt 

BROTHER  PASS  THE  WINTER    ALONE    IN    THE    WOODS SQUIRE    BOONE    RS 

TURNS  TO  NORTH  CAROLINA  FOR  SUPPLIES. 

In  1767,  John  Findlay,  or  Finlej,  formed  one  of  a 
party  of  hunters,  who  determined  to  enlarge  tlie  nsua» 
bounds  of  their  foray  upon  the  wild  game,  and  daring 
more  than  those  who  had  gone  before  him,  he  found 
himself  upon  the  waters  of  the  Kentucky  River.  The 
Indians  roamed  the  land  undisturbed,  and  ignorant 
of  the  tremendous  power  that  existed  in  the  pale-faced 
neighborhood  over  the  mountain,  disdained  to  liarast. 
these  hunters,  the  first  who  had  made  themselvea 
known  to  them.  They  traversed  a  portion  of  Tennes- 
Bee.  Its  valleys  in  all  the  wealth  of  vegetation,  and 
-ts  scenery  of  bold  type — its  mountain  forests,  and 
above  all  —  for  these  were  practical  men,  who  rather 
looked  upon  what  was  to  be  acquired  than  at  the 
beautiful  —  there  was  a  variety  and  a  sufficiency  of 
game.     Forest    and  cane-brake  were  explored,  and 


FINLEY  S    VISIT   TO   TENNESSEE.  io 

there  was  a  glowing  consciousness  that  a  rare  land 
had  been  discovered,  and  that  tliey  had  been  the  first 
to  enjoy  it. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine,  in  some  degree,  the  delight 
which  he  and  his  party  experienced  in  once  getting  be- 
yond the  bounds  of  their  former  chase.  Evidently, 
from  the  history  of  Finley,  and  of  all  those  who,  like 
him,  "  extended  the  area  of  civilization,"  to  them, 
whatever  other  pursuit  was  in  their  village,  or  from 
home,  forced  upon  them,  that  in  which  they  reveled  was 
the  open  and  free  life  of  the  hunter  —  a  pursuit  where 
they  feared  no  enemy  whose  craft  and  cunning  was 
superior  to  the  roving  animal,  whose  strength  and  en- 
durance gave  him  almost  equality  in  the  contests  of 
the  forests.  In  relation  to  the  visit  of  Finley,  Gov- 
ernor Morehead,  in  his  admirable  address  at  Boones- 
borough,  (May  25, 1840,)  uses  the  following  language, 
which  would  not  be  characteristic  of  himself,  were  it 
not  eloquent  and  graceful : 

"  Of  Finley  and  his  comrades,  and  of  the  course  and  ex. 
tent  of  their  journey,  little  is  now  known.  That  they  were 
of  the  pure  blood,  and  endowed  with  the  genuine  qualities 
of  the  pioneers,  is  manifestly  undeniable.  That  they  passed 
over  the  Cumberland,  and  through  the  intermediate  country 
to  the  Kentucky  River,  and  penetrated  the  beautiful  valley 
of  the  Elkhorn,  there  are  no  sufficient  reasons  to  doubt.  I; 
is  en-,  ugh,  however,  to  embalm  their  memory  in  our  hearts, 
and  to  connect  their  names  with  the  imperishable  memorials 
of  our  early  history,  that  they  were  the  first  adventtirers  that 


4:6  LH^E    of    DANIEL    BOONE. 

[ylunged  into  the  dark  and  enchanted  wilderness  of  Kentucky 
—  that  of  all  their  cotemporaries  they  saw  her  first,  —  and 
saw  her  in  the  pride  of  her  virgin  beauty  —  at  the  dawTi  of 
summer  —  in  the  fullness  of  her  vegetation — her  soil  ip- 
Btinct  with  fertility,  covered  with  the  most  luxuriant  ver- 
dure —  the  air  perfumed  with  the  fragrance  of  flowers,  and 
her  tall  forests  looming  in  all  their  primeval  magnificence 
How  long  Finley  lived,  or  where  he  died,  the  silence  of  his 
tory  does  not  enable  us  to  know.  That  his  remains  are  no^ 
mingled  with  the  soil  that  he  discovered,  there  is  some  rea 
son  to  hope,  for  he  conducted  Boone  to  Kentucky  in  1709— 
and  there  the  curtain  drops  upon  him  forever." 

So  early  as  1750,  according  to  some  accounts, 
though  by  others  fixed  in  1747,  and  1748,  Dr.  Walker, 
with  a  party,  had  attempted  an  exploration  beyond 
the  mountain.  He  crossed  from  Powell's  Valley  ovei 
to  Cumberland,  and  traversed  with  rapidity  along  th« 
north-eastern  portion  of  Kentucky  ;  but  his  task 
seemed  to  be  ended  with  the  country  which  borders 
on  the  Sandy  River,  now  one  of  the  frontier  lines  of 
Kentucky  and  Virginia.  This  expedition  seems,  hy 
all  historians,  to  have  been  considered  as  a  failure. 
It  must  have  been  so,  for  its  results  were  so  trifling, 
leaving  no  monument  in  history,  and  valuable  only, 
it  may  be,  in  fixing  the  fact  in  the  intercourse  of  the 
people,  that  the  mountain  barrier  could  be  overcome. 
Had  he  possessed  the  vigor  of  the  famour,  men  who 
ha<i  directed  their  zeal  to  the  southwest,  his  name 
woiild  have  been  of  record,  as  that  of  him  who  had 


fini-ey's  account  on  his  ketukn.  4) 

been  worthy  of  companionship  with  De  Sotj  and  La 
Salle  and  Marquette.  Those  who  contend  that  Dr 
Walker  made  his  visit  in  1747,  say  that  he  visited  the 
eastern  and  south-eastern  portions  of  Kentucky.  The 
truth  is  scarcely  worth  the  labor  of  excavation  from 
the  mass  of  conjecture,  since  he  does  not  seem  to  have 
looked  upon  what  was  around  him  as  worthy  of  the 
record,  which  he  certainly  ought  to  have  given  it. 

This  is  but  one  of  the  many  instances,  which,  to  the 
reader  of  history,  become  so  painfully  apparent,  that 
those  who  are  by  circumstances  placed  in  the  position 
of  all  others  best  to  give  to  the  world  the  true  causes 
of  a  nation's  formation,  either  are  incapable  of  the 
duty,  or  neglectful,  or  careless  of  it.  When  they  and 
their  knowledge  are  forever  past  away,  posterity  be- 
comes painfully  cognizant  of  the  great  loss  their  ab- 
sence has  occasioned. 

Finley  returned,  and  with  those  who  are  familiar 
with  the  free  intercourse  of  rural  life,  and  how  much 
the  oral  relation  is  preferred  to  the  graver  narrative,  it 
will  not  be  considered  strange  that  the  stories  which 
he  spread,  of  what  he  had  seen,  at  once  awakened 
the  keen  attention  of  his  neighbors  and  friends  to  a 
glorious  new  country,  where  the  intricacies  of  the 
cunning  of  the  law  were  unknown  —  where  fashion 
had  no  other  rules  than  such  as  comfort  declared  it  was 
a  luxury  to  have  —  in  that  day  when  the  hard  grasp 
of  oppression  in  various  forms  was  on  so  many.     Tliey 


48  LIFE    OF    DAOTEL    BOONjv. 

talked  loud  and  long  of  the  beauty  and  the  fertility 
of  the  country  —  that  the  sport  of  the  hunter  was  the 
unvarying  prelude  to  his  full  success  —  that  forest 
and  field  and  river  waited  but  to  be  possessed. 

Daniel  Boone  was  soon  eagerly  a  listener.  It 
tsniched  the  great  key  note  of  his  character,  and  the 
hour  and  the  Man  had  come.  He  had  before  this 
ranged  far  beyond  his  habitation.  The  valleys  on  the 
head  waters  of  the  Holston,  in  the  south-western  part 
of  Virginia,  became  familiar  to  him,  and  in  1164:  h© 
had  entered  within  the  present  limits  of  Kentucky, 
being  with  a  party  of  hunters  on  the  Rock  Castle,  a 
branch  of  the  Cumberland  River.  He  looked  around 
in  an  examination  of  the  country — not  so  much  for 
hiA  own  purposes,  as  to  fulfil  a  duty  imposed  on  him 
by  A  company  of  land  speculators,  who  probably  se 
lecied  him  as  a  determined  and  quiet  man,  who  would 
fearlessly  discover  and  with  integrity  relate  the  truth, 
concerning  the  acquisitions  they  had  designed  to  make 
—  and  this  incident  illustrates  his  character  and  his- 
tory. The  record  of  their  speculation  had  passed 
away,  but  their  agent  soon  made  himself  memorable. 

It  is  remarkable  and  significant  that,  notwithstand- 
ing all  the  glowing  narrations  of  Finley,  and  of  those 
who  had  accompanied  him,  a  number  of  months 
elapsed  before  a  party  could  be  made  up,  to  take  up 
the  exploration  thus  begun.  The  people  to  whom 
these  hunters  gave  their  wild  histories,  were  cool  and 


BOONE    AND    HIS    FIVE    a  Ml' ANIONS.  49 

reflecting.  It  was  one  tiling  to  hear  of  a  land  whose 
resources  and  treasures  were  so  abundant,  and  r[uite 
another  affair  to  risk  life  and  liberty  in  its  acquisition. 
The  power  of  the  Indian  was  well  known  by  these 
border  men.  They  knew  that  while  Finley  and  his 
party,  perhaps  from  the  very  novelty  of  the  enter- 
prise, had  been  allowed  to  go  through  and  to  re- 
turn unmolested,  it  was  the  more  probable  that  tho 
news  that  the  pale-face  had  come  across  the  moun- 
tain would  be  spread  all  over  the  tribes,  and  there 
were  those,  it  was  well  known,  among  the  Indians, 
who  would  not  allow  a  second  invasion  without  some 
severer  scrutiny.  To  none  of  those  who  gathered 
arount.  Finley,  were  all  his  facts  more  interesting 
than  to  Boone.  He  had  his  deep  discontents,  and 
chafed  in  the  toils  to  which  society,  as  then  constitu- 
ted, guided  him.  But  he  had  with  him  a  wife,  wlio 
had,  for  him,  severed  herself  from  her  father's  home, 
and  exchanged  the  quiet  of  William  Penn's  colony 
for  the  wilder  frontier  life  of  the  Yadkin.  There  were 
considerations  impelling  him  on  all  sides,  and,  as  lie 
was  chosen  the  master-man  of  the  forming  expedition, 
it  is  quite  likely  that  his  delay  was  that  of  the  wise 
observer  of  all  the  perils  before  him.  At  last  six  men 
were  organized  —  Daniel  Boone,  John  Finley,  John 
Stewart,  Joseph  Holden,  James  Monay,  William  Cool, 
—  and  these  commenced  the  great  movement,  iu 
the  result  of  which  the  wide,  and  wealthy,  and 
C  4 


50  Lli'E    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

prosperous  commonwealth  of  Kentuckj  so  much  re 
joices. 

Boone  found,  in  the  good  judgment  and  excellent 
conduct  of  his  worthy  wife,  a  comfort  in  his  proposed 
separation  from  home.  The  fiction,  that  when  he  was  a 
lover  of  his  Rebecca,  he  nearly  mistook  the  brilliancy 
of  her  eye  for  that  of  a  wild  animal,  found  its  eluci- 
dation in  the  better  fact,  that  in  the  light  of  that  eye, 
he  could  see  that  which  would  guide  his  home  kindly 
and  well,  while  he  pushed  the  strong  arm  of  enter 
prise  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  forest.  He  had  reared 
a  family,  and  his  sons  had  sufficient  age  to  begin  to 
assist  their  father. 

It  is  of  the  things  most  to  be  regretted,  by  all  who 
examine  the  record  of  events  w  ith  a  view  to  the  por- 
traiture of  history,  that  so  few  of  the  great  actors  in 
the  stirring  events  of  life,  prepare  their  own  relation 
of  the  scenes  themselves  have  moulded  or  witnessed. 
Under  all  the  prejudices,  and,  notwithstanding  the  gen- 
eral self-laudation  and  the  special  pleading  with  which 
such  statements  would  be  written,  they  would  yet  be 
nvaluable,  for  we  should  often  arrive  at  the  precis^ion 
of  facts,  and  know  the  story  of  the  life  as  it  really  was. 

John  Filson,  who  claimed  to  have  been  an  early 
witness  of  the  settlement  of  Kentucky,  wrote,  ostensi' 
bly  from  Boone's  dictation,  a  life  of  the  great  Pioneer, 
but  its  style  of  language  is  so  ornate  and  ambitit^usj 
as  greatly  to  lessen  its  value.     Evidently,  Filsoi/  re- 


FILSON's    life    of    BOONE.  5) 

ceived  the  reading  facts  from  Boone,  and,  disdaining 
the  simple  words  of  the  Pioneer,  preferred  the  use  of 
a  diction  far  beyond  good  taste  or  probability.  Jun- 
lay,  the  editor  of  the  book,  calls  it,  curiously,  "  a  nar 
rative,  written  in  a  style  of  the  utmost  simplicity^  hy 
a  man  who  was  one  of  the  hunters  who  first  penetra- 
ted into  the  bosom  of  that  delectable  region." 

Strange  enough,  with  this  narrative,  in  all  its  over- 
wrought diction,  the  old  Hunter  was  greatly  pleased, 
and  it  gratified  him  to  have  it  read  before  him.  It 
has  a  prefatory  page,  which  begins  with  the  announce- 
ment that,  "  Curiosity  is  natural  to  the  soul  of  man, 
and  interesting  objects  have  a  powerful  influence  on 
our  affections  "  —  a  platitude  which  does  not  follow 
very  vigorously,  after  the  statement  in  the  title  that  the 
work  is  a  narrative  of  "  The  Adventures  of  Colonel 
Daniel  Boone,  formerly  a  hunter — containing  a  nar- 
rative of  the  AVars  of  Kentucky." 

And  yet,  with  all  its  large  sounding  sentences,  it  la 
pleasant  to  trace  through  this  autobiography,  when 
the  calnmess  of  ruaturer  age  had  given  the  judgment 
firmness  —  what  the  man  really  intended.  It  cannot 
be  doubted  that  he  felt  it,  when  he  said  — ''  Here, 
Ti^ere  the  hand  of  violence  shed  the  blood  of  the  in- 
nocent —  where  the  horrid  yells  of  savages,  and  the 
gioans  of  the  distressed,  sounded  in  our  ears  —  we 
now  hear  the  praises  and  adorations  of  our  Creator  ; 
where  wretched  wigwams  stood,  tLe  miserable  abode 


52  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BuONE. 

of  savages,  we  behold  tne  foundations  of  cities  aid, 
that  in  all  probability  will  equal  the  glory  of  the  great- 
est upon  earth,  —  and  we  view  Kentucky,  situated  on 
the  fertile  banks  of  the  great  Ohio,  rising  from  obscn- 
rity  to  shine  with  splendor." 

The  prophet  is  here.  The  voice  of  Boone  in  this 
utterance  was  a  truthful  one  —  and  memorable  was 
it,  that  he  who  had  been  once  the  only  white  man 
within  the  whole  extent  of  the  rich  and  far-spread 
land,  should  have  lived  to  see  the  great  State,  in  all 
its  advancing  power  and  prosperity. 

The  narrative  is  here  best  continued  in  the  words 
of  Boone,  as  given  by  Filson.  The  details  which  he 
but  sketches,  can  be  gathered  up  more  interestingly 
when  we  have  just  listened  to  his  own  story. 

"  It  was  on  the  first  of  May,  in  the  year  1769,  that  I  re- 
signed  my  domestic  happiness  for  a  time,  and  left  my  family 
and  peaceable  habitation  on  the  Yadkin  River,  in  North  Car- 
olina, to  wander  through  the  wilderness  of  America,  in  quest 
of  the  country  of  Kentucky,  in  company  with  John  Finley, 
John  Stewart,  Joseph  Holden,  James  Monay,  and  William 
Cool.  We  proceeded  successfully,  and  afler  a  long  and  fa- 
tiguing  journey  through  a  mountainous  wilderness,  in  a  west- 
ward direction,  on  the  seventh  day  of  June  following,  we 
found  ourselves  on  Red  River,  where  John  Finley  had  foi- 
merly  been  trading  with  the  Indians,  and,  from  the  top  of  an 
eminence,  saw  with  pleasure  the  beautiful  level  of  Kentucky. 
Here  let  me  observe  that,  for  some  time,  we  had  experienced 
the  most  uncomfortable  weather,  as  a  prelibatior  of  our  fu 
ture  sufTermgs.     At  this  place  we  encamped,  and  made  a 


THE  FORESTS  OF  KENTUCKY.  53 

shelter  to  defond  iis  from  the  inclomont  season,  and  began  to 
Hunt,  and  reconnoiter  the  country.  We  found  everywhere 
ftbundance  of  wild  beasts  of  all  sorts,  through  this  vast  for 
est.  The  bufllilo  were  more  frequent  than  I  have  seen  cattle 
in  the  settlements,  browsing  on  the  leaves  of  the  cane,  or 
sropping  the  herbage  on  those  extensive  plains,  fearless,  be- 
cause ignorant  of  the  violence  of  man.  Sometimes  we  saw 
hundreds  in  a  drove  ;  and  the  numbers  about  the  salt  springs 
were  amazing.  In  this  forest  —  the  habitation  of  beasts  of 
every  kind  natural  to  America  —  we  practiced  hunting  with 
great  success  until  the  22d  day  of  December  following.  This 
day  John  Stewart  and  I  had  a  pleasing  ramble  ;  but  fortune 
changed  the  scene  in  the  close  of  it.  We  had  passed  through 
a  great  forest,  on  which  stood  myriads  of  trees,  some  gay 
with  blossoms,  others  rich  with  fruits.  Nature  was  here  a 
series  of  wonders  and  a  fund  of  delight.  Here  she  displayed 
Uer  ingenuity  and  industry  in  a  variety  of  flowers  and  fruits, 
beautifully  colored,  elegantly  shaped  and  charmmgly  flavored  j 
and  we  were  diverted  with  innumerable  animals  present- 
ing themselves  perpetually  to  our  view.  In  the  decline  of 
the  day,  near  Kentucky  River,  as  we  ascended  the  brow  of  a 
small  hill,  a  number  of  Indians  rushed  out  of  a  thick  cane- 
brake  upon  us,  and  made  us  prisoners.  The  time  of  our  sor 
row  was  now  arrived,  and  the  scene  fully  opened.  The  In- 
dians plundered  us  of  what  we  had,  and  kept  us  in  confinement 
seven  days,  treating  us  with  common  savage  usage. 

"  During  this  time  we  discovered  no  uneasiness,  or  desire 
to  escape,  which  made  them  less  suspicious  of  us  ;  but  Ji  the 
dead  of  night,  as  we  lay  in  a  thick  cane-brake  by  a  large  fire, 
when  sleep  had  locked  up  their  senses,  my  situation  not  dis- 
posing me  for  rest,  I  touched  my  companion,  and  gently 
awoke  him.  We  improved  this  favorable  opportunity,  an^ 
departed,  leavinaj  them  to  take  their  rest,  and  speedily  d* 


54  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

ported  our  course  towards  onr  old  camp,  but  found  it  plur 
dered,  and  the  company  dispersed  and  gone  home.  About 
this  time  my  brother,  Squire  Boone,  with  another  adventurer 
who  came  to  explore  the  country  shortly  after  us,  was  wan 
dering  through  the  forest,  determined  to  find  me  if  possinle, 
and  accidentally  found  our  camp.  Notwithstanding  the  un- 
fortunate  circumstances  of  our  company,  and  our  dangerous 
situation,  as  surrounded  with  hostile  savages,  our  meeting  so 
fortunately  in  the  wilderness  made  us  reciprocally  sensible 
of  the  utmost  satisfaction.  Soon  after  this  my  companion 
in  captivity,  John  Stewart,  was  killed  by  the  savages,  and 
the  man  that  came  with  my  brother  returned  home  by  him- 
self. We  were  then  in  a  dangerous,  helpless  situation,  ex- 
posed daily  to  perils  and  death  amongst  the  sa\'tiges  and  wild 
beasts  —  not  a  white  man  in  the  country  but  ourselves. 
Thus  situated,  many  hundred  miles  from  our  families,  in  the 
howling  wilderness,  I  believe  few  would  have  equally  enjoyed 
the  happiness  we  experienced.  We  continued  not  in  a  state 
of  indolence,  but  hunted  every  day,  and  prepared  a  little 
cottage  to  defend  us  from  the  winter  storms.  We  remained 
^here  undisturbed  during  the  winter. 

"  On  the  first  day  of  May,  1770,  my  brother  returned 
'lome  to  the  settlement  by  himself,  for  a  new  recruit  of  hor- 
ses and  ammunition,  leaving  me  by  myself,  without  bread, 
salt  or  sugar,  without  company  of  my  fellow-creatures,  or 
even  a  horse  or  dog." 

Thus  it  was  that  in  1769  Daniel  Boone  began  the 
great  work  which  may  so  truthfully  be  called,  in  the 
close  language  of  this  day,  his  mission.  A  memora- 
ble year  all  over  civilization,  was  1769.  It  produced 
tDore  of  the  distinguished  among  mankind  —  of  tliosi 


BOONE   AND    HIS    PARTY.  55 

wTio  wrote  tlieir  name  in  famons  deed  — than  almort 
any  other  one  year  of  ages.  It  was  but  fitting  its 
annals  that  it  should  include  the  movement  which  led 
to  the  formation  of  a  great  State  —  so  eminent  for  its 
men,  who  have  by  voice  and  pen  made  history  illus- 
trious. Some  of  the  great  ones  of  that  year  devasta- 
ted the  earth ;  and  if  they  produced  ultimate  reforms, 
they  were  purchased  at  a  vast  price.  Boone  gave  U 
enterprise  the  means  of  furnishing  a  home  for  millions, 
where  the  arts  of  peace  can  illustrate  the  true  destiny 
of  mankind.  "  From  the  top  of  an  eminence  we  saw 
with  pleasure  the  beautiful  level  of  Kentucky."  Such 
is  the  simple  sentence,  fortunately  preserved  by  his 
amanuensis  in  language  like  that  in  which  the  hunter 
spoke  it,  in  which  Boone  relates  his  view  of  the  great 
country  himself  was  to  develop. 

These  six  hunters,  on  the  7th  of  June,  a  month  and 
seven  days  after  Boone  left  his  home  on  the  Yadkin, 
were  found,  as  the  scene  is  delineated  by  the  interest- 
ing narrative  of  Mr.  Peck,  whose  zealous  regard  for 
accuracy  gives  him  high  place  among  biographers, — 

"  Winding  their  way  up  the  steep  side  of  a  rugged  moun 
tain,  in  the  wilderness  of  Kentucky.  Their  dress  was  of  the 
description  usually  worn  at  that  period  by  allferest rangers. 
The  outside  garment  was  a  hunting  shirt,  or  loose,  open 
frock,  made  of  dressed  deer  skins.  Leggins  or  drawers,  of 
the  same  material,  co-^ered  the  lower  extremities,  to  which 
wa«5  appended  a  pair  of  moccasins  for  the  feet,     llie  cape  oi 


66  LIFE   OF  DANIEL   BOONE. 

collar  of  the  hnnting  shirt,  and  the  seams  of  :he  legginswer« 
adorned  with  fringes.  The  under  garments  w€re  of  coarsa 
cotton.  A  leathern  belt  encircled  the  body ;  on  the  right 
side  was  suspended  the  tomahawk,  to  be  used  as  a  hatchet ; 
on  the  left  side  was  the  hunting-knife,  powder-horn,  bullet- 
pouch,  and  other  appendages  indispensable  for  a  hunter 
Each  person  bore  his  trusty  rifle ;  and  as  the  party  slowly 
made  their  toilsome  way  amid  the  shrubs,  and  over  the  logs 
and  loose  rocks,  that  accident  had  thrown  into  the  obscure 
trail  which  they  were  following,  each  man  kept  a  sharp  look 
out,  as  though  danger  or  a  lurking  enemy  was  near.  Their 
garments  were  soiled  and  rent,  the  unavoidable  result  of 
long  traveling,  and  exposure  to  the  heavy  rains  that  had  fall- 
en ;  for  the  weather  had  been  stormy  and  most  uncomforta 
ble,  and  they  had  traversed  a  mountainous  wilderness  for 
several  miles. 

"  Towards  the  time  of  the  setting  sun,  the  party  had  reached 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  range,  up  which  they  had  toiled 
for  some  three  or  four  hours,  and  which  had  bounded  their 
prospect  to  the  west  during  the  day.  Here  new  and  inde- 
scribable scenery  opened  to  their  view.  Before  them,  for  an 
immense  distance,  as  if  spread  out  on  a  map,  lay  the  rich  and 
beautiful  vales,  watered  by  the  Kentucky  River ;  for  they 
had  now  reached  one  of  its  northern  branches.  The  country 
iinmediately  before  them,  to  use  a  western  phrase,  was 
'  rolling,'  and  in  places  abruptly  hilly ;  but  far  in  the  vista 
was  seen  a  beautiful  expanse  of  level  country,  over  which 
the  buffalo,  deer,  and  other  forest  animals,  roamed  unmo 
Jested ;  while  they  fed  on  the  luxuriant  herbage  of  the  forest 
The  countenances  of  the  party  lighted  up  with  pleasure,  con 
gratulations  were  exchanged,  the  romantic  tales  of  Finlej 
were  confirmed  by  ocular  demonstration,  and  orders  wen 
jfiven  to  encamp  for  the  night  in  a  neighboring  ravine,     h 


BOONE  8   ENCAMPMENT   ON    RED    RIVER.  57 

a  deep  gorfje  of  the  monntain,  a  large  tree  had  fallei,  siir 
rounded  with  a  dense  thicket,  and  hidden  from  observation 
by  the  abrupt  and  precipitous  hills.  This  tree  lay  in  a  con 
venient  position  for  the  back  of  their  camp.  Logs  werfl 
placed  on  the  right  and  left,  leaving  the  front  open,  where 
fire  might  be  kindled  against  another  log ;  and  for  sheltei 
from  the  rains  and  heavy  dews,  bark  was  peeled  from  th« 
linden  tree." 


The  extract  we  have  given  from  the  narration  of 
Boone  is  too  general.  It  embraces  a  time  in  which 
many  incidents  of  great  interest  occurred,  and  which 
conld  not  be  omitted  with  fidelity  to  the  history. 

From  the  position  which  they  had  taken,  which  was 
on  the  Ked  River  —  a  name  which,  in  the  poverty  of 
invention,  so  peculiar  to  pioneers,  was  bestowed  on 
many  streams,  from  some  real  or  fancied  hue  of  its 
waters  —  they  went  at  their  hunting  and  observation 
of  the  country.  This  river  is  one  of  the  principal 
branches  of  the  Kentucky.  It  is  thought  that  this 
locality  is  in  the  territory  now  known  as  Morgan 
County  —  receiving  its  name,  by  a  pleasant  coinci- 
dence, from  the  celebrated  partisan  officer,  who,  with 
his  three  rifle  companies,  led  the  forlorn  hope  under 
Arnold  at  Quebec,  and  to  whom  Virginia  presented, 
for  his  gallantry  at  the  head  of  his  riflemen  when  at 
the  victorious  battle  of  Saratoga,  an  horse,  pistols,  and 
a  sword.  The  bufi*alo  thronged  the  region,  as  it  no\s 
does  the  plains  of  the  far  west. 
C* 


58  LIFE  OF  DANIEL  BOOlO:. 

A  long  time  clripsed  ;  —  the  party  hnrxted  succesa 
fully.  It  was  an  easy  task  to  bring  the  skill  and  ex 
pedients  of  the  white  man  against  the  beast  of  the  for- 
est, which  had  not  yet  learned  to  avoid  them  ;  and 
Boone  and  his  party  found  cause  to  congratulate  Fiu' 
ley,  that  the  stories  with  which  he  had  made  the 
dwellings  on  the  Yadkin  to  thrill,  were  true  —  were 
even  below  the  truth.  Governor  Morehead  we.l  re- 
marks, that  to  none  of  the  pioneers  has  so  little  justice 
been  done  as  to  Finley,  and  suggests  that  Kentucky 
should  at  least  perpetuate  his  remembrance  by  naming 
a  county  after  him.  It  would  be  but  just,  in  that 
great  State,  to  write  upon  its  soil  the  name  of  him  who 
was  her  first  eulogist. 

These  six  hunters  knew  the  Indian,  his  character 
and  his  traits.  As  yet,  he  had  not  made  his  appear- 
ance, but  this  was  not  considered  by  them  as  render- 
ing it  certain  that  he  would  not  come.  In  all  proba 
bility,  their  watch  for  the  red  man  was  unremitting. 
In  the  district  between  the  Guyandot  and  the  Ken- 
tucky Rivers,  an  Indian  village  existed.  Boone  and 
his  party  were  not  trespassers  on  them  —  a  circum- 
stance, the  recollection  of  which  is  necessary  to  the 
rindication  of  his  career. 

The  treaty  at  Lochaber,  in  South  Carolina,  October 
5,  1770,  extinguished  the  Indian  claim  ;  and  although 
this  is  a  little  subsequent  to  the  date  of  Boone's  expe« 
dition,  yet  as  the  Shawanoes  had  been  subjugated  bj 


INDIAN   TREATIES.  5S 

tlie  Iroquois,  and  these  luid  ceded  all  their  claim  in 
1768  to  the  King  of  Great  Britain,  the  Indian  title 
was  not  of  the  very  best.  At  Fort  Stanwix,  the  treaty 
between  the  powerful  Iroquois  and  the  powerful  King, 
was  consummated.  This  interesting  locality,  now 
the  flourishing  village  of  Eome,  in  Oneida  County, 
New  York,  had  many  incidents  of  the  peaceful  and  the 
warlike  in  savage  life,  in  its  history.  Both  Iroquois  and 
king  were,  at  the  date  of  this  treaty,  powerful ;  —  and 
although  the  storm  that  was  to  ruin  both  was  already 
gathering,  it  was  not  yet  directly  visible.  The  Indian 
and  the  sovereign  did  not  dream  how  futile  was  theii 
partition  of  the  great  territory.  The  Hunter  who  was 
teaching  himself  the  compass  of  the  woods,  and  by 
the  arts  of  the  chase,  preparing  to  open  the  march  for 
a  nation  to  the  seat  of  empire,  was  to  exert  an  influ- 
ence, in  comparison  to  which  the  deliberations  of  the 
treaty  at  Stanwix  were  valueless.  Strange  are  the 
results  which  time  develops.  At  Fort  Stanw^'x,  fifty 
years  after  the  treaty,  began  the  great  work  which 
has  given  to  the  Great  West  a  value  wliich  Finlev 
and  Boone  would  have  been  startled  to  have  heard 
computed. 

The  hunt  and  the  exploration  went  on,  and  still  the 
Indian  came  not,  and  this  prolonged  absence  of  a  foe 
they  dreaded  must  have  oj^erated  on  the  mind  of  the 
party,  for  they  divided.  If  they  had  not  been  luUed 
into  insecurity  by  their  complete  exemption  from  the 


60  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

visit  of  the  savag-o,  they  would  liave  remained  t<> 
gether,  so  that  their  united  strength  would  have  been, 
in  good  measure,  a  defence.  Stewart  and  Boon« 
formed  one  party,  and  as  by  the  twigs  pulled  off  cau 
tiously  on  an  Indian  march,  prisoners  have  left  trace 
of  their  route,  so  from  all  the  minor  incidents  of 
Boone's  career,  some  judgment  may  be  formed  of  his 
policy.  On  the  22d  December,  they  were  nigh  the 
Kentucky  Hiver,  probably  by  the  guidance  and  ad- 
vice of  Boone,  to  know  the  career  and  capacity  of 
this  main  stream. 

The  quoted  story  of  Boone  has  already  detailed  his 
first  captivity  by  the  Indians.  The  defenceless  party 
of  two  was  easily  taken,  and  made  prisoners,  as  the 
united  six  would  not  have  been.  It  w^as  evident  by 
the  mode  of  their  capture,  that  Boone  and  Stewart 
were  not  on  their  guard.  When  the  Indian  is  looked 
for,  a  thick  cane  brake  is  not  passed  without  a  prelim- 
inary and  careful  reconnoiter. 

Boone  had  good  opportunity  now  to  show  of  what 
he  was  made.  He  was  a  prisoner,  in  the  hands  of 
those  to  whom  mercy  was  only  a  capricious  visitor, 
and  it  required  a  cultivation  of  sagacity  and  bravery 
in  his  conduct,  which  it  is  rare  to  find  united.  He 
seems  at  once  to  have  conducted  himself  so  that  they 
regarded  him  as  an  acquisition  to  their  tribe,  and  as 
Buch  to  be  adopted  among  them.  He  had  that  ines- 
timable and  rare  quality,  complete  patience  —  and 


BOONE    ESCAPES    FROM    'I HE    INDIANS.  61 

could,  by  neither  showing  fear  or  a  desire  to  escape, 
interest  even  the  cunning  Indian.  It  was  the  first  of 
his  bold  and  successful  strategies,  and  his  life  was  to 
know  many  of  them. 

The  Indian  felt  it  to  be  a  bitter  and  deep  offence, 
that  a  captive  treated  with  kindness  should  escape,  or 
attempt  it.  To  fail,  therefore,  was  to  be  subjected  to 
the  horrors  of  Indian  barbarity  ;  and  although  the 
Bea-board  colonies  would  have  regarded  the  death  of 
their  citizen  as  a  thing  to  be  avenged,  the  avenger  re- 
btores  not  to  life.  After  seven  days  of  captivity,  in 
which  Boone  and  Stewart  had  won  the  confidence  of 
the  Indian,  they  all  laid  down  for  their  customary 
sleep.  The  plans  that  Boone  had  formed,  it  was  now 
the  time  to  execute.  It  is  very  easy  for  us  to  talk  and 
write  about  it,  but  to  feel  one's  life  depending  on 
the  sleep  of  a  group  of  fierce  men,  whose  passions 
roused  knew  no  mitigation,  is  a  point  in  experience 
which  requires  a  heart  of  iron.  Stewart  was  actually 
asleep,  for  he  seems  to  have  been  dependent  on 
Boone.  The  latter,  rising  cautiously  from  his  feigned 
sleep,  and  looking  intently  around  him,  gently  awaked 
Stewart,  and  in  a  brief  word  the  direction  to  go  waa 
given.  The  sleep  of  the  Indian  was  sound.  When 
)e  had  no  wakefulness  of  war  or  hunt,  he  had  no 
thought,  and  the  body  had  full  power  to  sleep.  Boone 
and  Stewart  succeeded  in  getting  their  guns,  so  as  to 
have  a  chance  for  at  least  one  desperate  fight,  if  their 


62  LIFE    OB    DANIEL    BUONE. 

captors  aroused.  These  men  Lad  not  learned  wood 
craft  in  vain.  Tlieir  step  was  as  light  as  the  fall  of  p 
feather.  From  amidst  these  sleeping  savages,  they  took 
to  the  wood?.  Once  there,  every  moment  was  a  gain, 
and  while  every  pulsation  must  have  thrilled  with  ex 
citement,  they  made  the  best  of  the  obscurity  and  the 
aight,  and  made  no  halt  till  they  believed  themselves 
secure.  What  a  security  that  was  !  Hundreds  of 
miles  away  from  home  and  the  power  of  the  white 
man,  with  the  savage  in  revengeful  pursuit,  they 
sought  the  party  from  which  they  had  separated,  with 
a  vivid  realization  that  an  enemy  w^orse  than  that  of 
wild  beasts  needed  their  energies. 

They  found  their  old  camp  ;  but  the  four  compan 
ions  were  not  at  it.  Expecting  to  meet  them,  and  to 
find  refuge  in  their  strength,  this  was  a  cruel  disap- 
pointment. Not  only  were  their  friends  gone,  but  the 
camp  had  been  despoiled,  and  thus  the  traces  of  an 
enemy  were  all  around  them.  Here  the  story  of 
John  Finley,  who  first  uttered  the  praises  of  Ken- 
tuck}',  ends;  and  as  to  what  was  his  fate,  or  that  of 
Holden,  Monay  and  Cool,  the  records  have  no  entry. 
It  would  seem  unlikely  that  all  these  men  should  luive 
been  killed  by  the  Indians,  for  m  the  subsequent  in- 
tercourse with  the  savages  which  Boone  maintained, 
Bonietinies  peaceful  and  confidential,  it  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  either  the  boast  or  narrative  of  any  of 
them,  of  having  destroyed  his  companions.     If  they 


BOONE    AND   STEWAKT   ALONE.  63 

returned  to  Carolina,  as  the  result  in  other  cases 
shows,  on  the  return  of  peace,  and  the  acquisition  of 
the  West,  they  would  have  applied  for  land  or  gift 
from  the  government.  Deprived  of  their  provision 
and  ammunition,  it  is  quite  likely  that,  in  the  midst 
of  the  beautiful  land  his  tongue  had  so  lauded,  John 
Finley  perished  of  exposure  and  hunger.  If  they 
lived  and  returned,  they  merged  into  the  monotony 
of  every-day  life,  and  failed  to  establish  even  a  tra- 
ditionary reputation.  The  saddest  fate  is  the  most 
probable. 

Boone  and  Stewart  were  now  compelled  to  a  close 
organization,  and  a  careful  conduct.  They  were  com- 
pelled to  go  on  with  the  chase  for  their  subsistence,  but 
they  looked  to  their  guns,  also,  for  defence ;  and 
while  the  food  must  be  secured,  the  powder  must  be 
economized.  The  education  of  the  woods  was  one 
of  inestimable  value  to  these  hunters  of  Kentucky. 

The  sad  reflections  of  this  comparative  solitude 
were  soon  most  gratefully  enlivened.  Boone,  in  the 
month  of  January,  found  the  fears  which  himself  and 
Stewart  entertained  of  two  men  whom  they  saw  ap- 
proaching, turned  into  delight,  as  a  nearer  view 
showed  that  one  of  them  was  his  own  brother.  Tliere 
was  a  noble  brotherhood  about  this.  Squire  Boone 
(the  tenth  child  and  the  youngest  save  one  of  tliat 
munerous  family,)  had  found  one  Carolinian  willing 


64  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    B«.  ONE. 

to  brave  the  perilous  mountain  journey,  and  to  search 
after  his  brother.  On  came  these  adventurers,  not 
less  brave  and  bold  than  the  party  of  the  six  hun- 
ters, tracking  their  wilderness  way  as  best  they  could, 
having  no  friend  of  whom  a  question  could  be  safely 
asked,  or  by  whom  a  direction  could  be  given ;  and 
yet,  led  on  by  bravery  and  affection,  he  and  his  com- 
panion persevered ;  and  if  the  perils  of  their  enter- 
prise could  be  repaid,  they  were  by  the  luxury  of  the 
moment,  when  he  grasped  the  hand  of  his  living 
brother.  Of  Boone's  family,  Squire  had  all  to  relate, 
and  the  history  of  the  wife  and  children  left  behind 
was  earnestly  given  and  heard,  as  such  tidings  would 
be  heard  by  a  man  who  loved  his  home.  Squire 
Boone  and  his  companion  (whose  name  should  have 
been  preserved,)  had  started  to  find  his  brother  alive, 
.f  possible.  It  is  evident  that  the  people  of  the  set- 
tlements considered  the  expedition  as  a  desperate  one, 
and  that  it  was  most  probable  that  Boone  and  his 
party  were  the  prey  of  the  savage  or  the  wild  beast. 
When  Boone  saw  his  brother  approaching,  his  address 
of  caution  was  — "  Holloa  !  strangers,  who  are  you  ? ' 
The  welcome  answer  was  — "  White  men  and  friends." 
It  was  a  brief  but  a  very  significant  dialogue.  It  is 
difficult  to  imagine  a  visit  more  grateful.  It  is  almost 
asdifiicult  to  imagine  how  Squire  found  his  brother 
«ince  ^he  wilderness  is  not  supplied  with  a  guide  book ; 


AKKIVAL    Oi?'    BUOWK's    liKOTUEK.  6*' 

and  yet,  wherever  the  white  iiiau  had  been,  he  left  his 
mark,  and  these  Squire  had  successfully  watched^ 
e>en  to  a  discovery  of  the  last  niglit's  camp. 

There  were  now  four  together,  the  two  Boones, 
Stewart,  and  the  friend  of  Squire.  The  severe  exp© 
riences  of  the  recent  captivity,  it  would  seem,  should 
have  taught  the  continuation  of  the  same  caution 
which  had  been  exercised  by  Daniel  and  Stewart. 
But  the  success  of  Squire  in  proceeding  unharmed 
through  the  country,  probably  emboldened  them,  and 
led  to  the  imprudence  which  soon  had  such  fatal 
issue.  These  four  men  separated,  and  as  Boone  and 
Stewart  were  on  a  hunt,  which  they  had  extended  far 
beyond  their  camjD  —  (and  far  beyond,  in  an  hunter's 
language,  means  no  trifling  distance)  —  the  Indiana 
suddenly  came  upon  them,  and  poor  Stewart,  who  had 
shared  in  the  former  escape,  found  his  fate  in  being 
shot  down  and  scalped  —  the  first  blood  of  the  white 
man  staining  the  soil,  which  was  afterwards  so  often 
designated  as  the  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground.  It  ia 
grievous  to  think  of  the  fate  of  the  daring  hunter, 
dying  thus  by  savage  hand,  while  engaged  in  such 
good  service  to  his  fellow  men.  Boone  escaped,  spared 
by  a  good  Providence,  as  destined  for  a  long  life  ol 
usefulness.  How  he  escaped,  he  has  not  narrated, 
but  it  is  probable,  by  the  vigor  of  his  movement, 
trained  from  boyhood  to  rapid  step  and  long-enduring 
exertion.     The  story  of  sorrow  was  not  all  told.    The 

5 


66  LIFE   OF    DANrEL    UOONE. 

dieseTerance  of  the  four  worked  other  fiital  results. 
The  wretched  Carolinian  wandered  into  the  wood,  and 
was  lost.  As  a  skeleton  was  found  long  afterwards 
in  that  region,  his  fate  was  supposed  to  be  evidenced 
by  it.  Thus  two  bold  and  daring  men  led  the  long 
and  mournful  army  of  the  multitude,  who  were  to 
lay  the  foundation  of  Kentucky  in  the  blood  of  its 
founders.  The  two  brothers  were  now,  indeed,  all 
the  world  to  each  other. 

The  man  who  dared  to  penetrate  the  wildernesa 
when  it  was  a  series  of  known  and  unknown  dangers, 
and  the  man  who  accomplished  the  bold  project  of  a 
successful  search  after  a  brother,  through  equal  peril, 
were  fit  company  for  each  other.  It  is  a  beautiful 
picture  of  fraternal  affection,  and  the  name  of  Squire 
Boone  deserves  everlasting  remembrance.  He  see  ma 
to  have  been  of  the  same  noble  cast  with  his  elder 
brother,  and  their  struggles  for  each  other  would 
have  been  immortalized  in  enduring  eulogy,  if  they 
had  been  of  the  ancient  days.  Boone's  recital  of  their 
companionship  is  very  brief,  but  it  indicates  union 
and  concentration  of  purpose.  These  men  had  a  fear- 
ful trial ;  but  there  was  a  mitigation  of  it  in  their 
companionship.  It  was  lessening  the  care,  and, 
though  it  did  not  diminish  the  privation,  it  seemed  to 
make  it  more  endurable.  They  built  a  cabin,  and 
rude  enough  it  must  have  been,  for  they  had  no  other 
material  —  scarcely  more  than  has  the  eagle  for  its 


ALONE    IN    THE    WOODS.  61 

tftyrie  —  the  latter  having  the  most  advantage  of  be- 
ing able  to  place  hers  where  no  foe  could  molest. 
Boone  quietly  sums  up  their  condition  —  "a  danger- 
ous, helpless  situation,  exposed  daily  to  perils  and 
death,  among  savages  and  wild  beasts."  And  yet,  in 
all  these  sorrows,  and  with  all  this  hazard,  he  deema 
their  happiness  to  have  been  surpassed  by  but  few. 
He  measured  the  real  wants  of  nature,  and  while  in 
itself  the  remark  was  common-place  enough,  in  those 
circumstances  it  had  a  noble  meaning.  He  says  he 
often  observed  to  his  brother  —  "  You  see  now  how 
little  nature  requires  to  be  satisfied."  This  was  adorn- 
ing necessity,  and  it  further  illustrates  the  calm  and 
quiet  character  of  this  great  man.  His  was  not  a 
mere  theory  of  content, —  he  kept  that  light  of  the 
heart  burning,  when  to  the  mass  of  mankind  it  would 
have  been  forever  extinguished. 

There  was  no  indolence  about  them.  This  Boono 
expressly  disclaims ;  to  Imnt  —  to  guard  their  cottage 
against  the  storm  —  to  provide  the  moccasin  —  to  kin- 
dle the  watch-fire —  to  prepare  such  clothing  as  the 
skin  of  the  deer  could  furnish  —  above  all,  to  keep 
an  unremitting  guard  against  the  Indian,  gave  them 
occupation  enough.  Men  do  not  surrender  them- 
selves to  listlessness  when  there  is  a  perpetual  alarm, 
and  danger  and  ennui  cannot  exist  together. 

And  the  good  Providence  of  Heaven  watclied  over 
t)  -^m.     During  ail  the  winter  they  were  not  disturb- 


68  LIFE   UB    DANIEL   EOOiME. 

ed  —  not  seeing  any  Indians.  This  seems  slrangC)  fui 
in  an  existence  like  that  of  the  Indian,  wandering 
everywhere,  it  was  very  remarkable  that  the  cabin 
of  the  hunters  remained  undisturbed. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  intercourse  of  two  individ- 
uals becomes  burthensome  to  each  other,  if  left  with 
out  any  other  association  —  that  conversation  and 
idea  become  exhausted  —  and  that  they  who  can  exist 
together,  instructive  and  entertaining,  having  no  aid 
from  others,  must  have  the  varied  resources  of  educa- 
tion, and  that  in  a  time  of  limited  duration,  even 
these  will  fail.  These  men  were  not  educated  — 
probably  possessing  only  the  simplest  rudiments 
Indeed,  Boone's  correspondence  evidences  this.  They 
had  their  themes  in  sensible  objects  around  them. 
A  long  winter  of  solitude  was  the  test  of  their  adap 
tation  to  each  other,  and  it  seems  to  have  been  safely 
met.  It  was  a  true  brotherhood  —  where  the  tie  of 
kindred  grew  stronger  every  hour. 

When  the  spring  came,  it  was  time  for  another 
movement.  The  spring  came  early,  and  the  awaking 
to  its  foliage  seemed  like  the  passing  from  the  night 
to  the  day.  The  game  had  reduced  their  powder  and 
lead,  and  without  these  there  was  no  existence  for  the 
white  man.  Again  Daniel  Boone  rises  with  the 
emergency.  It  was  necessary  that  the  settlemeiil 
which  they  liad  made  should  ])e  continued  and  pro- 
t^ted,  and  it  was  the  duty,  in  the  progress  of  events^ 


SQUTKE   BOONE    RETURNS    HOME.  &S 

that  one  of  them  should  remain  to  tliat  task.  Tie 
made  the  selection  and  chose  himself  lie  had  the 
courage  to  remain  alone;  and  while  he  nnqnestion- 
ably  felt  the  keenest  desire  to  see  his  own  family,  he 
felt  that  he  had  a  noble  purpose  to  serve,  and  waa 
prepared  for  it.  On  May  1,  1770,  Squire  departed 
for  the  settlements  on  the  Yadkin.  What  a  journey 
for  a  man  was  that, —  five  hundred  miles,  and  utterly 
alone !  If  the  elder  brother  showed  strength  of 
character  in  remaining,  not  less  the  younger  in  daring 
this  march.  When  the  parting  word  was  given,  it 
must  have  been  more  like  a  farewell  to  each  other 
forever,  than  the  separation  for  a  brief  period.  There 
were  dangers  on  that  road  which  needed  no  exagge- 
ration. To  pass  five  hundred  miles  w^ithout  a  compan- 
\on  to  encourage,  cheer,  or  defend,  was  a  keen  trial 
{D  the  realities  of  courage ;  but  Squire  had  this  bless- 
ed hope  before  him,  that  each  day's  journey  brought 
him  nearer  to  his  home  —  that  the  five  hundred 
miles  were  passing  away  each  day  under  his  deter- 
mined and  quick  step,  and  that  the  ordeal  was  be- 
coming less  terrible  each  day.  He  pushed  boldly 
forward — and  the'elder  bi  other  remained  alone. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

•OONE  ALONE    IX    THE    WILDERNESS DEPRIVAirON — HI8    OWN    NARRATm 

HIS  BROTHER  RETURNS  WITH  SUPPLIES  AND  HORSES NEWS    FROM    HIS 

FAMILY EXTRACT  FROM  GOV.  MOREHEAD's  ADDRESS THE  TWO  BROTHERS 

EXPLORE  THE  COUNTRY  AND  DETERMINE  TO  LOCATE    UPON    THE    KENTUCKY 

RIVER THEY  RETURN  HOME WONDER    OF    HIS     NEIGHBORS    AT    SEEING 

DANIEL THEY  ARE  DETERRED  FROM  EMIGRATING  BY  FEAR  OF  THE  INDIANS 

DANIEL  AND  SQUIRE  BOONE,  WITH  THEIR    FAMILIES,    REMOVE    TO    KEN- 
TUCKY. 

Daniel  Booke  was  now  alone,  the  only  being  id 
all  that  vast  country  of  his  race  and  kind.  His  nar- 
rative states  it  simply,  and  therefore  most  interest- 
ingly —  for  occasionally  the  old  man's  language  seems 
to  have  escaped  the  transformation  of  his  pompous 
amanuensis  —  "  One  by  myself — without  bread,  salt 
or  sugar — without  company  of  any  fellow  creatnres, 
or  even  a  horse  or  dog."  Collins,  in  his  Historical 
Sketches  of  Kentucky,  says  that  Boone  spent  the 
winter  of  1769-70  in  a  cave  on  the  waters  of  Shavmr 
nee^  in  Mercer  county,  and  that  a  tree,  marked  with 
his  name,  is  yet  standing  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave. 
If  it  be  so,  may  the  "  woodman  spare  that  tree." 

This  is  a  crisis  in  the  history  of  this  man,  and  the 
fact  is  greatly   characteristic   of  him.     It    indicates 


boone's  belief  in  destiny.  71 

how  much  the  man  intendccl,  when  he  told  Filsor. 
that  he  was  "  an  instrument  ordained  to  settle  the 
wilderness."  With  this  conviction  before  liim,  all 
Bacrifice  was  to  be  made.  He  believed  tliat  he  had 
within  liim  tlie  destiny  of  guiding  ihe  settler  to  a  new 
home  —  of  extending  to  the  enterprising  and  adven- 
turous a  wider  sphere ;  and  acting  on  this,  he  felt 
that  what  would  have  been  a  wild  and  dangerous 
path  to  other  men,  was  that  which  he  would  follow 
wherever  it  presented  itself  in  this  duty.  Too  sim- 
ple hearted  to  cherish  the  strange  belief  in  his  "  star," 
as  the  greater  and  the  lesser  Napoleon  have  in  our 
times,  he  yet  concentrated  in  himself  a  resolution 
which  was  better  and  more  enduring  than  all  fancied 
stellar  influences.  The  first  great  step  had  been  taken 
when  he  dared  the  wilderness  at  the  head  of  his  fated 
six.  The  mysterious  providences  of  Heaven  had  re- 
duced these  to  himself,  and  even  those  who  had  sought 
and  found  him,  had  now  left  him.  He  was  alone,  aa 
few  other  men  have  ever  been.  Then  it  was  that  tlie 
great  empire  —  thronged,  prosperous,  powerful,  which 
has  followed  —  existed  but  in  One  Man. 

The  reader  will  recollect  that  Boone  entered  on  this 
solitary  life  with  a  full  knowledge  of  its  perils.  He 
was,  if  recaptured,  a  doomed  captive,  for  he  had 
slighted,  as  the  Indian  thought,  his  kindness.  Of  the 
seven  white  men  whom  he  had  seen  since  he  left  the 
V^adkin,  one  had  been  openly  murdered  by  the  savft' 


72 


LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOON^. 


^es,  and  all  the  probabilities  were  that  the  same  fate, 
or  death  bj  starvation  or  tlie  wild  beast,  had  befaller* 
the  other  five.  He  was  sure  of  the  existence  oidy  of 
his  brother;  and  even  to  him,  had  just  been  allotted 
tlie  dangers  of  a  terrible  journey  through  the  wilder- 
ness—  a  wilderness  extending  the  half  of  a  tliousand 
miles. 

This  courage  to  be  alone  took  the  fancy  of  the  great 
poet  of  our  age,  and  Byron  wove  into  his  superb  verse, 
his  eulogy  on  the  Hunter.  Yet  Boone  never  appears 
to  have  yielded  to  what  is  too  often  the  companion  of 
solitude  —  moroseness. 

"Severe,  not  sullen,  was  his  solitude." 

At  this  period  Boone  was  in  the  best  days  of  his 
life.  His  age  was  thirty-six,  and  lie  had  given,  by 
exercise  and  vigorous  employment,  a  strength  to  his 
frame  which  fitted  him  for  his  peculiar  duty.  He  ia 
described  by  various  writers  as  being  five  feet  ten 
inches  in  height,  robust,  clean  limbed,  and  athletic, 
fitted  by  his  habit  and  temperament,  and  by  his  phy 
Bique,  for  endurance  —  a  bright  eye,  and  a  calm  de- 
termination in  his  manner.  Alone  in  his  cabin  —  the 
coming  Kentucky  his  hunting  ground,  not  a  man  like 
him  within  hundreds  of  miles  —  he  gently  tells  us, 
in  his  narrative,  that  he  "  passed  a  few  days  uncom- 
fortably,"—  and  he  assigns  as  his  chief  reason,  that 
be  felt  much  anxiety  for  his  beloved  wife  and  family, 


DEPRIVATION.  T3 

and  for  what  would  he  their  sorrows.  Tliey  were  siir 
rounded  hy  the  guards  and  kindness  of  society,  lie 
had  no  semhlance  of  either,  and  yet  the  man  looked 
calmly  on  the  forest  around  him,  and  only  monrned 
when  he  remembered  the  circle  of  his  home. 

There  is  something  of  marked  interest  in  the  speci- 
fication which  he  gives,  as  the  snmmary  of  his  con- 
dition,  that  he  was  without  "  bread,  or  salt,  or  sugar." 
Cavalier,  trader  and  pilgrim,  as  the/  successively  stood 
upon  the  shores  of  James  Eiver,  the  Hudson,  and  at 
Plymouth,  believing  themselves  shut  out  from  man- 
kind, turned  to  no  such  deprivation  of  the  very  pri- 
mary necessities  of  life ;  and  yet  not  necessities,  for 
his  strong  frame  endured  their  want.  This  was  no 
sudden  deprivation.  lie  knew  that  during  all  the 
absence  of  his  brother,  which  must  necessarily  be 
very  long,  even  with  all  their  best  hope,  he  would 
have  none  of  the  ordinary  enjoyments  of  sense.  Like 
the  feigned  Dervish,  in  the  Corsair, 

"Salt  seasons  dainties,  and,  my  food  is  still 
The  simplest  herb  — the  water  from  the  rilL'* 

He  confesses,  for  such  is  his  form  of  expression,  that 
he  had  occasion  to  use  both  philosophy  and  fortitude. 
Filson  gave  him  here  a  large  word  for  a  simple  mean- 
ing. Boone's  philosophy,  (if,  indeed,  before  his  aman- 
uensis mentioned  it,  he  had  ever  heard  of  the  word,) 
was  of  a  sect  wliich  has  few  disciples.  The  number 
D 


74  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

of  those  who  devote  themselves  to  a  great  purposOj 
and  concentration  —  resign  the  immediate  for  the  fu- 
ture—  is  very  smalL  Boone  in  his  solitude  was  not, 
in  his  philosophy,  like  the  Indian,  who  is  a  stoic  be- 
cause his  range  of  thought  ceases,  and  to  bear  and  to 
endure  is  all  that  he  knows ;  — but  he  knew  that  pri 
vation  was,  in  his  case,  a  necessity  of  condition,  and 
that,  borne  manfully  now,  he  saw  the  good  end  coming 
—  and  that  it  was,  unconsciously,  a  high  order  of  phi- 
losophy. But  he  tells  his  own  story  well,  and  it  is  of 
deep  interest : 

"  I  confess  I  never  before  was  under  greater  necessity  of 
exercising  philosophy  and  fortitude.  A  few  days  I  passed 
uncomfortably.  The  idea  of  a  beloved  wife  and  flimily,  and 
their  anxiety  upon  the  account  of  my  absence,  and  exposed 
situation,  made  sensible  impressions  on  my  heart.  A  thou* 
sand  dreadful  apprehensions  presented  themselves  to  my  view 
and  had  undoubtedly  disposed  me  to  melancholy,  if  farthei 
indulged.  One  day  I  undertook  a  tour  through  the  country 
and  the  diversity  and  beauties  of  nature  I  met  with  in  this 
charming  season,  expelled  every  gloomy  and  vexatious 
thought.  Just  at  the  close  of  day  the  gentle  gales  retired, 
and  left  the  place  to  the  disposal  of  a  profound  calm.  Not 
a  breeze  shook  the  most  tremulous  leaf  I  had  gained  tli 
iummit  of -a  commanding  ridge,  and  looking  round  with  as 
»»nishing  delight,  beheld  the  ample  plains,  the  bcauteoiia 
cracts  below.  On  the  other  hand,  I  surveyed  the  famous 
river  Ohio,  that  rolled  in  silent  dignity,  marking  the  western 
boundary  of  Kentucky  with  inconceivable  grandeur.  At  a 
vast  distance  I  beheld  the  mountains  lift  their  venerable 
brows,  and  penetrate  the  clouds.     All  things  were  still ;   ' 


HIS    OWN    NARRATIVE.  75 

Kindled  a  fire  near  a  fountain  of  sweet  water,  anOi  feasted  n 
the  loin  of  a  buck,  which  a  few  hours  before  1  had  killed. 
The  sullen  shades  of  night  soon  overspread  the  whole  hem- 
isphere, and  the  earth  seemed  to  gasp  after  the  hovering 
moisture. 

"  My  roving  excursion  this  day,  had  fatigued  my  body  and 
diverted  my  imagination.  I  laid  me  down  to  sleep,  and 
awoke  not  until  the  sun  had  chased  away  the  night.  I  con- 
tinued this  tour,  and  in  a  few  days,  explored  a  considerable 
part  of  the  country,  each  day  equally  pleased  as  the  first.  1 
returned  to  my  old  camp,  which  was  not  disturbed  in  my 
absence.  I  did  not  confine  my  lodging  to  it,  but  often  re- 
posed in  thick  cane-brakes,  to  avoid  the  savages,  who  I  believe 
often  visited  my  camp,  but  fortunately  for  me,  in  my  absence* 
In  this  situation  I  was  constantly  exposed  to  danger  and 
death.  How  unhappy  such  a  situation  for  a  man  tormented 
with  fear,  which  is  vain  if  no  danger  comes,  ajid  if  it  does, 
only  augments  the  pain.  It  was  my  happiness  to  be  desti- 
tute of  this  afflicting  passion,  with  which  I  had  the  greate#* 
reason  to  be  affected." 

A  great  soldier  monarcn  once  asK:ea  wliat  fear  was 
■ —  a  question  which,  however  made  memorable  by 
the  plaudits  of  the  Court,  was  in  all  probability  safely 
asked,  amid  warriors  and  armament  and  strong  de- 
fence. Boone  quietly  says  he  was  destitute  of  it,  and 
it  is  certainly  an  amusing  illustration  that  he  immedi- 
ately after  describes  the  wolves  as  "  diverting  his  noc 
turnal  hours  with  their  perpetual  howlings."  If  tho 
bravery  of  Boone  were  not  an  established  and  undis- 
puted fact,  that  declaration  would  seem  boastful ;  but 


76  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

he  had  sounded  the  depth  of  forest  life,  and  had  con 
gidered  the  weight  of  all  it  had  to  offer.  The  unbro- 
ken wilderness  character  of  the  country  is  illustrated 
by  his  remark,  that  the  ''  various  species  of  animals 
in  the  vast  forest  were  continually  in  view."  These 
creatures  could  have  seen  but  little  of  man,  or  they 
would,  have  learned  the  indications  of  his  habitation 
and  avoided  it.  He  declares  he  was  happy  amidst 
danger ;  that  he  had  plenty  in  the  midst  of  want,  and 
that  he  could  not  be  melancholy.  There  is  reason 
here  to  suppose  that  Filson,  rather  than  Boone,  framed 
this  remark.  Boone  had  too"  much  strong  sense  to 
have  any  oUier  feeling  than  patience  amidst  the  scenes 
of  his  solitrde,  and  when  Filson  goes  on  to  cause  him 
to  declare  his  loneliness  "  an  uninterrupted  scene  of 
sylvan  pleasures  " —  the  very  straining  after  effect  in 
the  choice  of  a  word  utterly  unlike  the  language  of 
the  woodsman.  Constant  exposure  to  danger  and 
death  —  a  habitation  which  he  states  had  been  dis- 
covered by  the  savages  —  the  necessity  of  such  strat- 
agem as  the  resort  at  nisjht  to  the  cane-brake  rather 
than  to  take  the  risk  of  being  found  in  his  cabin  — 
all  these  have  no  "  sylvan  pleasure  "  in  them.  And 
yet,  he  felt  secure  enough  to  brave  the  perils  of  an 
xploring  tour,  and  saw  more  of  the  land  he  was  main- 
taining for  the  white  man.  lie  saw  the  Ohio,  and 
unquestionably,  from  the  results  of  his  tour,  strength- 
ened his  de^.erminatioii  to  brave  all  perils  to  establish 


KETURN    OF   HIS   BROTHER.  77 

the  home  of  his  fellow  citizens  in  a  land  ol  such  de- 
light. 

For  three  months  he  was  alone.  It  was  an  ordeal 
through  which  few  men  could  have  passed.  To  many 
it  would  have  been  the  means  of  weakening  the  mind, 
but  in  Boone  it  only  seems  to  have  renewed  his  ener 
gies.  It  was  remarked  of  him,  that  wdien  in  his  great- 
est vigor  he  was  distinguished  for  his  taciturnity  — 
dwelling  in  his  own  internal  converse.  It  was  a  part 
of  his  wilderness  education.  In  the  three  months 
that  no  response  awaited  his  word,  he  learned  how 
much  the  thought  could  speak. 

The  summer  sun  w^as  in  its  fierceness,  when  this 
long  solitude  was  broken.  That  noble  hearted  brother 
returned  —  a  return,  as  was  his  journey,  more  like 
the  creation  of  the  romancer,  than  a  veritable  history. 
He  had  fully  and  faithfully  kept  his  promise.  Not  only 
had  he  once  found  his  brother,  but,  to  benefit  him  and 
the  great  cause  of  mankind,  he  had  ventured  thus, 
the  third  time,  to  track  his  way  over  the  many  and 
the  weary  miles.  The  engagement  he  made  to  bring 
fresh  supplies  of  whatever  was  most  necessary,  he 
also  remembered,  and  this  first  transportation  train  — 
this  pair  of  horses  laden  with  provision — the  heralds 
of  that  mighty  caravan  from  East  to  West  which, 
witliin  the  life-time  of  Boone's  children,  is,  in  all  the 
rapidity  of  car  and  coach,  sail  and  steam,  pouring 
the  wealth  of  the  sea-board  to  the  interior,  only  to  be 


78  LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

reladen  with  its  treasures  in  return  —  this  i  ioneer 
carrier  brought  to  the  cabin  of  Boone  what  was  more 
precious  than  a  burthen  of  gold  dust  would  have  been. 
Best  of  all,  it  brought  news  that  Rebecca  still  kept 
undiminished  courage;  that  health  was  theirs ;  and 
that  the  energetic  wife  and  mother  had  been  enabled 
to  keep  the  household  comfortably.  It  cannot  be  but 
that  there  were  liours  of  rapid  converse  between  these 
brothers.  The  Hunter  had  saved,  not  lost,  his  words ; 
and  of  home,  of  Carolina  —  of  the  thrilling  tidings  of 
the  movements  at  Boston  —  of  the  more  than  mur- 
muring at  Britain's  rule  —  that  cabin  heard  long 
discourse. 

Tliey  now  had  horses,  to  them  invaluable,  and,  as 
they  well  knew,  would  be  considered  by  the  Indians 
as  a  great  prize.  They  could  not  conceal  them.  The 
horse  would  make  himself  manifest,  the  moment  his 
instinct  taught  him  a  human  being  was  near;  and 
the  stratagems  and  sagacities  by  which  the  liunters 
could,  at  niglit  or  day,  avoid  and  outwit  the  Indian, 
they  could  not  teach  their  animals.  From  the  sure 
indications  that  their  cabin  had  been  visited  by  the 
Bavage,  they  reasoned  well  that  in  the  chase  after 
occasional  herds  of  the  buffalo,  they  and  their  horses 
would  be  very  likely  to  grace  a  wigwam. 

Governor  Morehead  dwells  upon  the  boldness  of 
Squire  Boone,  in  returning  after  his  brother,  and 
thinks  that  it  was  confidence  in  his  destiny, 


TILEY    EXPLORE   THE   COUNTKY.  79 

♦'Which  not  all  Ine  skill  of  Daniel  Boone,  aocon iplished 
as  he  was  in  the  arts  of  Indian  warfare,  could  justify.     Mira 
cles  were  not  wrought  in  the  eighteenth  century,  to  assure 
mankind  of  a   Di^nne  agency  in  human  aflhirs ;    and  who 
could  have  supposed  that  any  other  doom  but  that  of  exter 
mniy/Jon,  awaited   the  bold  usurper  of  the  Indian  hunting 
ground  —  wandering,  from  preference  of  a  hunter's  life,  com. 
panionless,  in  a  distant  and  savage  wilderness  —  depending 
upon  his  rifle  for  food  —  upon  the  beasts  of  the  forest  for  rai 
n-ieiit  —  and  for  personal  safety,  upon  the  subtlety  with  which 
he  avoided  danger,  and  the  valor  and  dexterity  with  which, 
when  present,  he  repelled  it  —  above  all,  marked  and  hunted 
as  a  victim  by  artful  and  fiend-like  foes,  instigated  to  ven 
geance  by  a  keen  sense  of  wrong  inflicted  by  the  invasion  of 
a  favorite  domain,  from  which  they  had  not  yet  been  driven 
by  the  power  of  the  white  man  ?     Yet  Daniel  Boone  had  to 
act  his  part  in  the  future  conquest  of  Kentucky ;  and  from 
the  period  of  his  brother's  return,  until  the  ensuing  spring, 
the  self-exiled  hunters  continued  to  explore  the  country,  giv- 
ing names  in  their  progress  to  the  different  rivers,  and  in 
March,  1771,  retraced  their  steps  to  North  Carolina,  with  a 
determination  to  bring  their  families,  as  soon  as  practicable, 
to  the  wilderness." 

They  explored  the  country  between  Cumberland 
and  Greene  rivers,  finding  there  those  strange  re- 
sults of  a  soil  in  which  the  limestone  is  in  abun- 
dance and  cavernous  —  the  sink-holes,  as  they  are  de- 
signated —  depressions  which  have  been  wrought  by 
the  water.  Keturning  to  the  Kentucky  Eiver  in 
March,  1771,  they  determined  that  that  should  be  the 
place  of  their  fixed  settlement.     Tlie   exemption  of 


80  LIFE   Oh    DANIEL   EuONE. 

these  men  from  assault  by  the  Indiaus,  during  all  thia 
long  period  of  eight  months,  in  which,  armed  and  on 
horseback,  they  seem  to  have  roamed  just  where  they 
chose,  is  most  wonderful.  It  has  something  about  i. 
which  seems  like  a  special  interposition  beyond  the 
ordinary  guardianship  over  the  progress  of  man.  On 
the  safety  of  these  men  rested  the  hope  of  a  nation. 
Their  defeat,  their  captivity,  their  death,  would  have 
chilled  the  vigor  of  enterprise.  A  very  distinguished 
authority  declares,  that  without  Boone,  the  settle- 
ments could  not  have  been  upheld,  and  the  conquest 
of  Kentucky  would  have  been  reserved  for  the  emi- 
grants of  the  nineteenth  century. 

At  last  the  time  arrived  at  which  Boone,  believing 
that  he  was  completely  conversant  with  the  country, 
that  he  knew  of  its  value,  and  of  the  means  to  possess 
it,  and  the  perils  which  awaited  the  possessor,  deter- 
mined to  return  home.  He  had  not  forgotten  it; 
never  lost  sight  of  it;  nev^er  ceased  to  think  of  it,  as 
the  place  which  his  exertions  were  to  benefit.  It 
was  not  the  least  of  the  motives  to  impel  him,  how- 
ever, that  he  could  assist,  in  his  journe}^,  his  gallant 
brother  who  had  dared  so  much  for  him  ;  though  as 
Squire  had  accomplished  the  journey  three  times,  it 
's  quite  probable  he  proved  of  great  use  to  his  brother. 
Boone  says  that  in  returning  home,  it  was  his  detor 
mination  to  bring  his  family  to  Kentucky,  which  he 
esteemed  a  second  Paradise,  even  at  the  risk  of  life 


BOONE    AKKIVES    HOME.  8j 

and  fortune.  Undoubtedly  lie  acted  on  determination 
It  had  been  of  the  plans  formed  during  the  long  soli- 
tude of  the  winter,  that  she  and  they  who  had  limited 
possession  on  the  Yadkin,  should  possess  the  broad 
acres,  the  glades,  the  rich  land  that  lay  out  to  the 
6un,  ready  to  be  taken  and  held  by  the  strong  arm. 

lie  sums  up  the  incidents  of  his  journey  in  a  very 
brief  sentence.  All  he  says  of  it,  is,  "  I  returned  safe 
to  my  old  habitation,  and  found  my  family  in  happy 
circumstances."  That  wilderness  tour — five  hundred 
miles  —  the  two  brothers  skilled  horsemen, — noted 
hunters  —  all  this  deserved  detailed  record.  But  it 
was  sufficient  for  Boone  to  act.  He  left  his  fame  to 
take  care  of  itself.  Undoubtedly  they  felt  fearless, 
for  their  rifles  and  their  horses  gave  them  a  power 
which  the  Indian  dreaded.  Home  they  came,  and 
if  ever  traveler  was  welcomed,  it  was  the  long  absent 
Hunter. 

It  was  the  embodiment  of  the  fable,  so  often  con- 
ceived and  told,  of  the  reappearance  of  the  lost  one. 
To  the  frontier  men  of  the  Yadkin,  the  coming  of 
Boone  among  them  was  a  new  era.  It  opened  thcii 
range  of  thought.  He  had  discovered  and  returned 
with  the  evidences  of  his  acquisition.  The  road  to 
the  land  of  which  poor  Finley  had  spoken,  was  d€> 
fined,  for  Squire  had  traversed  it  four  several  times 
in  little  more  than  one  year.  The  mountain  had 
ceased  to  be  a  barrier.     Tlie  stories  of  impenetrable 


82  LIFE  OF  da:>.'il:l  uoOxXE. 

fastness  and  invincible  forest  were  obsolete.  Tlieir 
own  neighbors  had  lived  unmolested  for  almost  two 
yeai*s,  in  the  midst  of  the  rich  country,  in  comparison 
to  which  their  mountain  land  was  but  a  poor  abode. 
Boone  doubtless  preserved  his  quiet  and  silent  charac- 
ter, but  if  he  ever  yielded,  it  must  have  been  when 
the  population  of  the  Yadkin  border  rushed  to  see 
the  man  whose  career  had  been  so  eventful,  even  in 
this  portion  of  it,  as  to  make  his  presence  among 
them  a  wonder.  Such  journeys  have  all  their  vivid 
interest  when  first  taken.  It  is  around  the  man  who 
has  begun  the  great  enterprises  of  life,  that  the  keen- 
est curiosity  centers.  Boone  returned  to  his  home, 
not  like  Rip  Yan  Winkle,  from  a  slumber,  but  like 
Columbus,  from  a  discovery.  To  none  could  that 
home  visit  have  been  as  precious,  as  to  the  wife  who 
had  so  long  waited  and  watched  for  him.  She  felt 
the  reward  of  her  toil  and  the  recompense  of  her 
anxieties.  Nor  are  these  words  lightly  written.  She 
survived  to  a  good  old  age,  and  a  faithful  narrator 
Bpeaks  of  her  nature  as  generous  and  heroic ;  and  to 
such  a  heart,  how  delightful  must  have  been  the  day 
which  brought  back  to  her  her  bold,  and  brave,  and 
admirable  protector. 

The  determination  formed  amid  the  counselings 
togetlier  at  the  cabin  in  the  wilderness,  was  not  easily 
reduced  to  direct  action,  w^hen  it  was  subjected  to  the 
deliberations  of  home.     It  was  not  a  trifle  to  prepare 


PKEr AiiATlUNS    b'ijil    liETUivisiJSfG.  OO 

the  minds  of  a  woman  and  her  children  to  gc  where 
none  of  her  sex,  that  were  influenced  by  the  tender- 
ness and  comforts  of  civilization  had  ever  been,  and 
wha":  she  might  have  taken  as  her  duty  readily  for 
her  jusl>and's  sake,  received  a  new  reading  when 
viewed  as  it  might  affect  her  children.  Daniel  and 
Squire  could  easily  move  off,  as  they  had  before  —  but 
the  elder  of  the  daring  brothers  had  wider  purposes 
than  merely  to  take  a  family  to  a  new  home.  He 
wanted  to  make  a  sure  and  steadfast  event  of  the 
possession  of  the  noble  domain  of  Kentucky  by  the 
white  man.  The  farm  was  to  be  sold ;  there  were 
varied  arrangements  to  make  to  give  solidity  to  the 
enterprise ;  and  above  all,  the  population  were  to  be 
leavened  with  the  desire  to  possess  the  glorious  in- 
heritance. There  were  other  causes  which  made 
delay  the  most  obvious.  It  was  from  this  neighbor- 
hood that  Stewart,  and  Cool,  and  Holden,  and  Monay, 
and  the  gallant  Finley,  had  left  for  the  same  land  to 
which  Boone  was  persuading  them.  Where  %oere 
they  f  Where  was  the  man  that  accompanied  Squire 
Boone  when  he  first  went  out  ?  Their  fate  was  in 
mystery,  or,  in  ail  probability,  the  certainty  of  their 
destruction  was  the  only  revealing  yet  to  be  made. 
The  Boones  had  indeed  gone  and  returned  in  safety, 
but  they  wert  the  exceptions  to  the  general  rule.  It 
was  a  noble  prize  to  win,  but  the  hazards  and  dan 
gers  seemed  fearful 


84  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOO.VE. 

But  beyond  all,  Daniel  Boone  moved  with  the  ac 
curacy  with  which  great  men  make  their  plans  sure, 
and  this  patiently  abiding  two  years  before  he  left  to 
accomplish  the  great  purpose  of  his  heart,  elucidates 
his  character.  It  is  the  truly  great  man  who  ^'  in  his 
patience  possesses  "  himself.  To  wait,  is  an  attribute 
of  those  who  see  beyond  the  first  page  of  action,  which 
is  about  all  the  ordinary  man  compasses.  If  Boone 
had  been  a  grasping,  mercenary  trader,  he  would 
have  hurried,  lest  some  keener  venturer  should  dare 
the  peril  for  the  sake  of  the  plunder.  If  he  had  been 
a  brutal,  coarse  man,  a  mere  Indian  fighter,  his  regard 
for  the  mild  and  defenceless,  for  wife  and  children 
would  have  been  small.  He  would  have  commanded 
a  reluctant  obedience,  and  gone  out  like  a  Tartar 
chief.  But  this  is  perha^^s  as  suitable  a  place,  in  this 
biography,  as  any  other,  to  say,  that  the  general,  ill- 
informed  opinion  that  Boone  was  a  sort  of  corsair  of 
the  woods,  living  on  Indian  battle  as  his  most  cher- 
ished pursuit,  is  erroneous.  Boone  was  the  man  who 
dared  when  daring  was  necessary  in  duty ;  but  his 
was  the  quiet,  fixed  purpose  that,  having  its  serioua 
work,  its  ordination  of  settlement,  to  do,  fouglit  only 
when  it  was  required  to  clear  the  way  or  to  defend 
lie  had  too  much  true  courage  to  be  the  reckless  In- 
dian killer.  lie  was  rather  a  mild  but  firm  con- 
queror. Two  years  the  people  on  the  Yadkin  delibe- 
rated and  prepared,  and  Boone  found  much  that  re- 


THEY   COMMENCE   THE   JOTJENPrT.  85 

quired  his  strono:  will.  It  was  soinetliini]^  to  prove  to 
himself  that  it  was  wise  and  kind  to  take  them  to  the 
land  of  the  wild  heast  and  the  scalping  knife ;  to  live 
where  the  presence  of  any  other  than  the  white  mai 
might  be  the  signal  for  desolation  and  massacre. 

The  calm  recital  of  Boone  had  made  its  way  to  the 
people.  A  movement  was  now  making  to  give  him 
when  he  started,  a  company  of  fellow  travellers,  far 
beyond,  in  power  and  numbers,  the  Six  who  had  left 
for  the  same  land  a  few  years  before.  To  go  to  the 
new  country  may  have  been  considered  as  even  mo]*e 
perilous,  at  this  time,  than  when  Boone  first  went.  It 
could  not  but  have  impressed  the  settlers  that  a  scene 
of  very  great  difficulty  was  likely  to  arise  in  the  whole 
country.  It  was  in  the  year  1773,  and  slow  as  tidings 
in  those  days  traveled,  the  recital  of  the  increasing 
dissensions  at  Boston  must  have  been  familiar.  These 
people  knew  the  savages  well,  and  had  the  best  rea- 
sons for  supposing,  that  in  the  event  of  a  war,  the  In 
dian  would  find  it  good  ground  of  quarrel,  tliat  a 
stranger  came  into  their  hunting  ground,  if,  indeed, 
they  needed  even  the  pretext. 

But  the  hour  for  parting  arrived  at  last,  and  on  the 
twenty-fifth  of  September,  1773,  Daniel  and  Squire 
Boone  left  the  Yadkin  —  their  families  accompanying 
—  strong  in  resolution.  They  had  taken  care  to  pro- 
vide themselves  w^th  cattle  —  with  whatever  would 
surest  make  a  comfortable  home  for  them  —  and  espe 


86 


LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 


cially  did  they  not  forcret  to  take  with  them  four  good 
1 1  orses.  Boone  knew,  as  thousands  of  gallant  Kentucki 
ans  have  since  his  day,  that  tliere  was  a  good  and 
abundant  pasturage  for  stock  in  his  new  found  coun- 
try. They  left  the  Yadkin,  where,  since  they  liad 
parted  from  their  native  Pennsylvania,  they  had  found 
a  home.  The  Eastern  States  have  sent  out  vast  com 
panies  of  emigrants,  but  never  any  in  whose  fortune 
more  for  the  future  was  concentrated.  Boone  had 
succeeded  in  starting  the  acquisition  and  conquest  of 
Kentucky,  and  tliis  was  a  great  work  Ijegun. 


CHAPTER   V. 

rB«  JOURNEY — FIVE    FAMILIES  AND   FORTY    MEN  JOIN  THE    BOONlCS  A.'t  VCW* 

ell's  valley A  PARTY  OF  THE  EMIGRANTS  ARE  ATTACKED  BY  INDIANS  — 

BOONE's  SON  AND  FIVE  OTHERS  KILLED THE  COMPANY  TURN  BACK  TO  THB 

SETTLEMENTS  ON  CLINCH  RIVER THE  LONG  HUNTERS VIRGINIA  GRANTS 

LAND  IN  KENTUCKY  TO  THE  SOLDIERS  OF  THE  FRENCH  WAR THEY  LEARN 

THE  CHARACTER  OF  THE    LAND    FROM    BOONE LORD    DUNMORE    ORDERS   A 

SURVEY THE  EXPEDITION BOONe's    REPORTS  CONFIRMED HERDS    OF 

BUFFALO SURVEYORS    REACH    THE    PRESENT    LOCATION    OF  HARRODSBURa 

AND  LOUISVILLE LORD    DUNMORE   SENDS    FOR   BOONE RESCUE   OF  THK 

SURVEYORS. 

The  great  journey  thus  pleasantly  begun,  had  one 
more  most  gratifying  incident.  Such  had  been  the 
influence  of  what  Boone  had  said  and  done,  and  es- 
pecially the  latter,  that  at  Powell's  Valley  he  found 
himself  surrounded  by  a  reinforcement  of  five  fami- 
lies and  forty  men,  well  armed.  The  Indians  might 
read  a  lesson  in  the  latter  fact.  Thi'i  company  was 
now  a  strong  one.  It  had  for  its  leader  the  best  hun- 
ter of  the  New  World  —  the  man  who  could  see  and 
find  and  do  all  that  the  savage  could,  and  beyond 
him,  had  the  arts  and  wisdom  of  the  white  man. 
Tliey  had  horses  and  cattle  —  female  society  —  the 
combined  means  and  strengtli  of  a  respectable  forca 


88  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

They  were  in  the  best  condition  for  a  journey,  and  it 
is  quite  likely  that  when  the  party  started,  thus  in 
creased,  for  the  Mountain,  Boone  felt  that  he  was  al- 
ready repaid  for  his  trials  and  sufferings.  Tlie  emi- 
grants little  thought  to  what  a  dark  and  bloody  book 
this  gathering  of  the  cavalcade  was  the  preface.  A 
writer  (Peck,  in  Sparks'  American  Biography,)  accu- 
rately describes  the  encampment  of  such  a  party,  as 
"  near  some  spring  or  water  course,  where  temporary 
shelters  are  made  by  placing  poles  in  a  sloping  posi 
tion,  with  one  end  resting  on  the  ground,  the  other 
elevated  in  forks.  On  these,  tent-cloth,  prej^ared  for 
the  purpose,  or  articles  of  bed  covering,  are  stretched. 
The  fire  is  kindled  in  front,  against  a  fallen  tree  or 
log,  towards  which  the  foot  is  placed  while  sleeping. 
The  clothing  worn  at  day  is  seldom  removed  at 
night."  The  knowledge  of  Squire  Boone  in  this  jour- 
ney was  invaluable.  He  had  become  familiar  with 
the  route  —  its  weary  and  its  winning  ways,  and 
where  the  best  resting  places  for  the  night  could  be 
fuund.  He  probably  knew  well  the  wide  natural 
way,  now  known  as  the  Cumberland  Gap  —  the  door 
left  by  Nature  for  the  use,  not  so  much  of  the  hunter, 
as  for  the  great  achievements  of  our  own  day,  when 
engineering  under  similar  circumstances  finds  that  all 
lias  been  done  which  art  can  here  desire  or  hope. 

The  three  great  States,  Yirginia,  Kentucky  and 
Tennessee,  lie  near  in  conjunction  to  this  Pass.    Squir© 


ATTACKED  BY  THE  INDIANS.  89 

must  have  marlced  the  journey  he  had  made  minutely. 
He  had  traversed  it  alone,  and  had  leisure  then  to 
place  indelibly  on  his  memory  the  great  features  of  the 
road,  that  is,  if  their  way  could  he  considered  as  a  road. 
They  were  approaching  the  Gap.  To  get  over  tho 
mountains  was  their  cherished  purpose.  Once  over, 
they  would  see  for  themselves  whether  Finley's  glow- 
ing stories  had  been  true,  as  the  Boones  declared  they 
found  them  to  be. 

The  march  had  been  uninterrupted.  They  had 
passed  the  ridge  known  as  Walden's,  when  seven  of 
their  young  men  fell  back ;  courageous,  not  fearing 
separation,  but  most  unwisely  as  the  sad  event  proved. 
They  had  the  care  of  the  stock,  and  perhaps  it  was  to 
collect  the  scattered  ones  that  they  had  gone  away 
from  the  main  body.  As  no  enemy  had  been  seen, 
the  concentration  of  danger  had  not  been  enforced, 
though  it  was  a  bitter  error  that  it  was  not.  Boone 
had  one  of  his  sons  in  the  group  who  had  gone  out  of 
line.  Tlie  company  were  not  entirely  easy  in  their 
absence,  and  when  they  heard  sounds  proceeding  from 
the  quarter  where  the  wanderers  were,  indicating  con- 
flict, there  w^as  a  rush  to  their  rescue.  It  was  too  lata 
The  Indians  had  come  suddenly  upon  the  seven,  un- 
prepared as  they  were  by  any  knowledge  or  sign  oi 
their  approach.  The  fight  was  a  massacre.  Out  ol 
the  seven,  six  were  killed.  One  succeeded  in  an  es- 
cape.    When   B(  one   and   those  who  rushed  to  the 


90  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

«5cene  reached  tliere,  for  tliere  were  several  miles  h& 
tween  them,  he  saw  his  own  son  among  those  who 
had  fallen.  Such  was  the  first  severe  lesson  of  loss 
in  which  Boone's  eventful  history  was  writing  itself. 

His  boy  was  seventeen  — his  eldest  boy — undoubt- 
edly fully  competent  to  be  an  aid  and  companion  to 
his  father,  as  he  had  been  a  solace  and  protect- 
or to  his  mother.  It  was  James  Boone  who  thus 
fell  in  the  struggle  to  obtain  a  foothold  in  the  wil- 
derness. His  courage  is  evidenced  by  his  having 
been  willing  to  separate  himself  thus  far  from  the  main 
troop,  and  his  father's  confidence  in  him  is  equally 
shown.  This  severe  calamity,  almost  the  most  severe 
that  could  have  fallen  to  Boone's  fate,  was  a  dreadful 
crisis.  It  was  arresting  the  high  hope  of  the  emi>y 
grants,  and,  by  the  saddest  of  trials,  teaching  them 
how  true  all  their  fears  of  danger  in  crossing  the 
mountain  were.  The  tenth  of  October  was  the  day 
on  wliich  this  occurred,  and  tlius,  in  the  brief  space  of 
fourteen  days,  the  entire  prospect  and  plan  of  the  first 
great  party  of  settlers  was  changed.  The  Indians, 
having  done  the  evil,  were  easily  defeated.  Proba- 
bly they  would  not  have  ventured  the  attack,  if  th 
young  men  had  been  with  the  Hunter ;  but  as  the} 
found  these  hojs  without  aid  or  protection,  it  wjia 
characteristic  of  the  savage  to  avail  himself  of  the 
weakness  of  those  to  whom  his  enmity  was  every 
aouT  increasing.     The  sad  task  of  the  burial  of  the 


THE  EXPEDITION  TURNS  BACK.  9^ 

dead  was  performed  in  sorrow,     lliis  blow  had  not 
fallen  alone  on  Boone.     With  his  son  five  others  died. 
Boone,  with  emphatic  phrase,  calls  it  "a  cloud  of  ad- 
versity."    It  was  a  dark  one  ;  one  that  fell  upon  the 
expedition  just  as  it  was  assuming  every  appearance 
of  being  destined  for  the  very  happiest  results.     But 
it  was  one  of  those  periods  of  sadness  which  have 
their  part  in  moulding  the  character  of  men.    The  bar 
was  in  the  furnace,  and  from  it  Boone  seems  to  have 
come  forth  with  less  injury  than  most  or  any  other 
prominent  man  of  his  condition. 

The  expedition  turned   back !     It  was  a  dreadful 
end  to  a  beginning  replete  with  all  that  energy  and 
enterprise  and  experience  could  furnish.    What  Boone 
was,  is  shown  by  this.     If  he  had  been  a  mere  fighter, 
a  brawler,  a  half  civilized  frontier  ranger,  he  would 
not  have  listened  to  the  gentle  sorrows  of  the  l)ereaved 
mother,  or  the  sadness  and  despondency  of  neighbors 
and  townsmen.     It  cannot  escape  tlie  attention  of  the 
observer,  that  while  in  almost  every  narration  of  the 
incidents  of  the  lives  of  the  men  of  the  frontier,  the 
desire  for  revenge  for  every  foray  and  incursion  seems 
paramount,  in  Boone's  case  — severe  as  were  the  sue- 
sessive  experiences  which  he  encountered,  of  the  In- 
dian  m  his  ferocious  midnight  walks  of  search  after 
•ife  — he  seems  to  have  been  calm  and  mild;   ener- 
getic for  defence,  but  not  active  or  zealous  for  the 
blood  of  those  who  had  injured  him. 


92  LIFE   OF   DAKTEL   BOONE. 

The  trial  to  the  wife  of  Daniel  Botne  was  severe 
indeed.  Her  husband  had  organized  this  expedition 
It  was  to  follow  the  bold  path  that  he  had  carved  out. 
that  they  were  come.  Since  the  head  of  her  familj^ 
liad  taken  up  the  thread  of  that  bold  destiny  that 
pointed  to  the  glorious  land  beyond  the  mountaia 
barrier,  her  home  had  been  almost  a  widowed  one. 
Sadder,  indeed,  for  if  Boone  had  died,  the  event 
would  have  been  certain,  and  Time,  the  great  Healer 
of  human  woe,  would  have  interposed ;  but  in  the  se- 
paration of  successive  months,  when  not  a  word  was 
to  be  heard,  it  was  suffering  all  the  pangs  of  hope  de- 
ferred in  its  keenest  ill.  And  now,  when  she  had  de- 
termined no  longer  to  be  separated,  the  gratulation  at 
being  at  his  side  was  lost  in  the  bitter  grief  for  the 
loss  of  her  manly  and  beloved  child. 

Boone  was  on  his  way  to  what  he  deemed  (for  such 
are  his  words  in  relation  to  it)  "  a  second  paradise." 
That  in  all  its  experiences  of  wild  man  and  wild  beast, 
solitude  and  semi-starvation,  he  should  have  found  it 
in  his  heart  thus  to  speak  of  it,  indicates  the  strong 
concentration  of  his  purposes  —  the  iron  will,  deter- 
mined in  its  end  but  prudent  in  its  exertion.  When^ 
years  afterwards,  Boone  was  relating  to  his  extraordi 
nary  secretary,  Filson,  this  sad  episode  in  his  life,  he 
speaks  of  it  briefly,  but  there  is  a  directness  in  tlie 
narrative,  which  sufficiently  indicates  how  great  an  ob 


THE   CONSULTATION. 

stacle  to  the  immediate  prosecution  of  the  enterprise, 
this  calamity  involved. 

The  consultation  which  the  company  held  immedi- 
ately on  the  occurrence  of  this  disaster,  was  in  sight 
of  the  graves  of  six  of  their  nearest  and  dearest,  and 
although  it  is  stated  that  Squire  and  Daniel,  and  a 
few  others,  w^ere  in  favor  of  proceeding,  and  accom- 
plishing the  mountain  passage,  the  majority  were 
against  them,  and  the  retreat  was  determined.  The 
emigrants  were  not  so  utterly  disheartened  as  to  re- 
turn altogether  to  their  old  homes,  but  to  the  settle- 
ments on  the  Clinch  River,  so  that  Virginia  received 
them ;  a  circumstance  which  may  have  been,  in  view 
of  the  events  w^iich  followed,  of  much  importance. 
In  the  review,  it  is  strange  that  men  so  powerful,  who 
had  proved  the  ways  of  the  wilderness,  and  had 
known  savage  life  in  all  its  phases,  should  have  so 
peacefully  agreed  to  return.  They  must  have  known 
that  their  discovery  was  now  likely  to  be  anticipated, 
and  the  incident  is  abundant  in  its  proof  that  the 
great  Pioneer  possessed  the  complete  mastery  over 
himself,  in  his  quiet  waiting  for  the  future. 

Tlie  principal  ranges  of  the  Allegany,  which  they 
had  been  about  to  pass,  were  Powell,  Walden  and 
Cumberland.  Stretching  fron  the  north-east  to  the 
Bouth-west,  they  made  the  great  wall  which  had  been, 
by  the  settlers  at  the  East,  invested  with  terrors  which 
this  band  of  pioneers  had  just  so  signally  proved  were 


D4  LIFE    OF    DA^11.L    BOUNCE. 

not  imaginary.  Tlie  inother  had  told  her  boy  of  th* 
dangers  of  the  fierce  and  wandering  Indian,  who,  in 
ihe  passes  of  th  3se  ranges,  stood  ready  to  destroy 
whoever  might  be  so  bold  as  to  veri'ure ;  and  wlien 
lirst  Squire  and  afterwards  Daniel  Boone  had  safely 
and  successfully  found  their  way  over,  and  had  kin- 
dled the  enterprise  of  the  frontier  by  their  narration 
of  the  glorious  land  that  was  to  be  won,  the  child 
was  convinced  that  the  fear  of  the  mother  had  paint- 
ed a  foe  that  did  not  exist.  Fearfully  had  the  child 
learned  how  true  was  the  instinct  that  taught  the 
mother  to  dread  the  journey  over  the  mountain.  The 
mountains  themselves,  divested  of  the  peril  of  man 
and  beast,  were  so  wild  and  rngged  as  to  give  scope 
to  all  the  fear  of  the  traveler.  Boone  says  (and  h« 
was  not  of  the  stuff  of  which  vain  fears  are  made) 
that  "  the  aspect  of  these  cliffs  is  so  wild  and  horrid, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  behold  them  without  terror." 
The  experiences  of  the  brothers  in  their  journey  had 
been  of  vast  advantage.  Aided  by  this  pilotage,  the 
party  had  successfully  gained  the  most  elevated — 
Waldens  —  when  the  attack  of  the  Indians  suddenly 
changed  all  their  purposes,  and  induced  the  retreat 
to  Clinch  River,  from  which,  it  is  most  probable,  many 
of  the  party  never  again  issued  forth.  The  settle- 
ment on  Clinch  Iliver  had  been  oi  some  duration,  and 
the  number  of  families  who  had  made  this  their  home, 
gave  it  a  strengtb  where  security  was  felt. 


THE    LONG    nUNTEKS. 


The  famous  company  of  Long  Hunters  liad,  in  1771^ 
two  years  previous  to  this  incident  in  the  narrative, 
taken  into  this  western  region  a  hunt  of  such  dura 
tion  that  they  who  participated  in  it  were  designated 
by  the  above  name.  These  were  Casper  Mauser, 
whose  hunting  experiences  had  been  extensive,  James 
Knox,  John  Montgomery,  Isaac  Bledsoe,  and  others. 
One  or  two  other  parties  had  traversed  far  into  the 
wilderness,  sometimes  threading  the  woods,  and  in 
other  cases,  using  the  waters  of  the  rivers  for  the  pur- 
poses of  their  exploration.  The  staple  commodity 
of  those  days  was  furs,  venison,  and  bear's  meat. 
These  began  the  great  trade  which  now  uses  to  its 
utmost  capacities  all  the  energies  of  Commerce. 

Tlie  vicinity  of  the  Great  Rivers  were  sooner  known, 
for  the  ingenuity  of  the  white  man,  in  his  better 
knowledge  of  the  means  of  traversing  the  water,  gave 
him  facilities  beyond  those  which  the  simple  skill  of 
the  Indian  could  compass. 

It  w^as  the  great  boldness  in  all  these  enterprises  to 
attack  the  wilderness.  Here  the  man  was  left  to  his 
own  energies,  without  the  friendly  assistance  of  the 
rapid  current  of  a  river,  that  bore  him  onward  beyond 
the  pursuit  of  the  savage.  Here  it  was  that  Boone 
evinced  his  sublime  courage.  He  called  the  lone  wil 
derness,  where  tor  months  no  aid  or  sympathy  was 
within  his  reach,  a  paradise,  and  proved  himself  one  of 


96  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

those  sages,  who  Cowper  tells  us,  have  found  a  charm 
in  solitude. 

Daniel  Boone  was  now  recognized  as  the  discoverei 
of  Kentucky ;  the  discoverer,  not  as  he  is  so  styled 
who,  by  the  accident  of  wind  and  tide  may  find  the 
prow  of  his  vessel  upon  a  land  hitherto  unknown, 
but  as  having  determined  by  the  heroism  and  bravery 
of  his  experiences,  and  the  intelligence  of  his  obser- 
vation, what  beauty  and  what  bounty  had  been  spread 
out  there  awaiting  the  march  of  empire.  The  hunter 
boy  who  had  learned  the  power  of  the  rifle  in  the 
woods  which  adjoined  Reading,  (in  our  day  how  un- 
like the  place  that  taught  forest-craft  to  the  woods- 
man !)  was  now  admitted  to  have  been  the  guide  of 
his  country  towards  the  great  possession  which  the 
savage  used  but  to  abuse,  and  which  were  of  all  lands 
most  suitable  for  the  triumphs  of  civilization.  The 
description  which  Boone  had  given  of  the  inexhaust- 
ible fertility  of  the  soil,  had  awakened  the  keen  atten- 
tion of  Carolina  and  Virginia.  If  the  country  was 
such  as  the  Pioneer  had  delineated  it,  it  was  to  be 
grasped,  and  he  would  be  fortunate  who  secured  a 
home  there. 

We  are  accustomed,  at  this  period,  to  speak  of  the 
Revolutionary  struggle  as  the  Old  War.  The  con- 
flicts of  1812  and  1846  have,  by  their  recent  date, 
thrown  the  others  far  back,  ahnost  into  history  ;  but 
to  our  fathers,  the  strife  that  immediately  preceded 


H.Oi^^    ^N 


VmGLNIA    PASSES    BOUNTY    LAWS.  97 

the  Kevolution  bore  the  title  of  the  Old  War.  With 
us,  it  is  now  best  known  as  the  French  War.  It  waa 
the  last  time  in  which  we  bore  a  foreign  banner  in 
the  field,  or  graced  the  Crown  by  Colonial  bravery. 

In  that  war  the  best  blood  of  Virginia  had  mingled. 
Our  own  Washington  learned  then  the  lessons  of 
martial  knowledge,  which  he  so  eminently  used,  whec 
directing  his  skill  against  the  sway  of  the  monarch 
in  whose  ranks  he  had  so  bravely  fought  under  Brad 
dock.     Virginia  had  sent  out  her  troops,   who  had 
done  good  service,  and  the  Colony,  for  such  service, 
had  very  properly  voted  a  remuneration  in  bounty 
lands.     These  had  been  located  —  for  it  was  very  easy 
for  the  Colonial  government,  to  declare  the  statutory 
possession  of  land,  on  the  Kentucky.     The  counsel- 
ors who,  at  the  seat  of  government  of  the  Ancient 
Dominion,  felicitated  themselves  that  they  had  so  gen- 
erously  remembered    the    soldier,    did   not  stop  to 
think  that  it  would  require  the  bravery  of  a  campaign 
to  get  possession  of  the  gift.     Of  what  this  land  was, 
Boone  had  told  them.     They  had  an  indefinite  idea 
where  they  were,  but  their  duties  ended  in  the  law 
They  told  the  soldier  what  they  had  given  him.     It 
was  for  liim  to  arrive  there.     Kor  is  this  extraordi- 
nary     The  history  of  the  "  Military  Tract  "  of  West- 
ern :N'ew  York  would  furnisn  equal   instances  of  the 
distinction  between  ownership  by  law  and  by  actua". 
possession. 

E  ^ 


yS  LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

13 lit  the  Government  of  Virginia  did  net  quite  con 
tent  itself  with  passing  the  bounty  laws.  Governoi 
Dimmore  sent  —  relying  on  the  great  fact  that  Boone 
had  been  able  to  maintain  and  sustain  himself  there 
alone  —  a  party  of  surveyors  to  give  some  form  and 
shape  to  the  donations  to  the  soldiery. 

Lord  Dunmore  was  then  the  governor  of  Virginia, 
Bucceeding  Lord  Botetourt.  The  attention  of  this 
nobleman  had  been  attracted  to  the  great  capabilities 
of  the  West,  and  in  1772,  he  made  all  the  arrange- 
ments for  a  visit  thither,  in  the  companionship  of 
George  Washington,  when  the  latter  was  unexpect- 
edly compelled  to  give  up  the  enterprise,  so  welcome 
to  him,  by  the  death  of  young  Custis. 

It  is  of  vivid  interest  here  to  recall  the  facts  which 
show  how  much  Kentucky  owes  to  Washington,  in 
the  preparation  of  the  train  of  events  which  led  to  its 
settlement.  Tl^extract  we  give  from  the  admirable 
life,  by  Sparks,*6f  the  great  Virginian,  will  show  that 
it  was  to  his  energy  that  the  soldiers  of  the  French 
War  were  chiefly  indebted  for  their  land  —  his  scrupu- 
lous and  careful  justice  providing  for  all. 

"  In  the  midst  of  his  public  engagements,  another  affair 
extremely  vexatious  in  its  details,  employed  much  of  hia 
attention.  The  claims  of  the  officers  and  soldiers  to  lands, 
granted  by  Governor  Dinwiddie,  as  a  reward  for  their  servi. 
ces  at  the  begining  of  the  French  war,  met  willi  iiimiMRTablb 
obstacles  for  a  long  time,  first  from  the  ministry  m  England, 
and  next  from  the  authorities  in  Virghiia*     By  his  unwearied 


A    SURVEY    IS    01vi>ERED.  98 

3Xortiiiis,  liowcver.  mikI  by  lhes(>  alone,  and  mostly  at  his 
own  expense,  the  matter  was  at  last  adjusted.  Nor  did  h« 
ivmil  his  etlbrts,  till  every  ofticer  and  private  s  >ldier  had  re 
celved  his  duo  proportion.  Where  deaths  had  occurred,  the 
heirs  were  sought  out,  aud  their  claims  verified  and  allowed. 
Eveu  Vanbraam,  who  was  believed  to  have  deceived  him  at 
the  capitulation  of  the  Great  Meadows,  and  who  went  as 
hostage  to  Canada,  thence  to  England  and  never  returned  to 
America,  was  not  forgotten  in  the  distribution.  His  share 
was  reserved,  and  he  was  informed  that  it  was  at  his  disposal." 

To  facilitate  this  purpose,  the  Governor  ordered  the 
survey.  In  1773,  such  names  as  Taylor,  Bullitt,  Har- 
rod,  McAfee  —  famous  in  the  annals  of  Kentucky, — • 
were  employed  on  this  arduous  duty.  They  were  led 
by  Captain  Thomas  Bullitt,  well  selected  for  such 
service,  since  he  had  been  engaged  in  the  celebrated 
expedition  against  Fort  Du  Quesne.  He  led  his  party 
down  the  Ohio  to  the  Falls,  where  a  camp  was  built 
and  fortified,  so  as  to  protect  them  from  the  Indians. 
Many  surveys  were  made  in  Kentucky,  and  the  pre- 
dictions and  assertions  of  Boone  verified.  The 
brothers  McAfee  followed  up  the  survey,  and  ••  a 
local  habitation  and  a  name  "  begun  to  appear  in  the 
wilderness  —  so  rapidly  were  the  plans  of  Boone  un- 
derstood by  the  Yirginians. 

The  bufi'alo  was  of  great  use  to  these  explorers. 
Their  patlis,  worn  by  long  use,  by  the  urdisturueu 
travel  of  successive  years,  were  adopted  by  the  hun:* 
ers.     They  had  a  convenience  and  form  which  wer« 


loo  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

valued,  and  from  their  resemblance  to  something  like 
the  work  of  man,  the  hunters  called  them  the  streets. 
The  first  survey  on  the  Kentucky  Kiver  was  of  six 
hundred  acres,  and  was  made  by  Taylor  and  the 
McAfee's.  These  adventurous  men  saw  with  interest 
the  roads  broken  through  the  cane-brake  l^y  the  mi 
grating  animals,  and  watched  the  contests  which  the 
Bait  licks  witnessed  among  the  brute  creation,  for  that 
article,  next  to  an  absolute  necessity  —  salt ;  less 
patient  and  self-denying  than  Boone,  who  had  passed 
his  solitary  months  even  without  it. 

In  1774,  other  surveyors  followed.  In  May,  Cap- 
tain James  Harrod,  with  a  party  of  forty-one  men, 
descended  the  Ohio  River  from  the  Monongahela,  and 
arrived  at  the  present  location  of  Harrodsburgh,  or, 
as  it  was  first  called,  Harrodstown,  or  Old  town ;  and 
if  the  locality  should  be  famous  for  nothing  else,  it 
would  be  for  the  fact  that  there  corn  was  first  raised 
—  the  first  of  that  harvest  which  in  our  days  glows  in 
beautv,  on  all  the  vast  expanse  of  fertile  soil.  The 
manner  in  which  this  town  was  laid  out,  proves  that 
land  was  in  abundance.  They  were  literally  "  mou- 
archs  of  all  they  surveyed,"  and  made  their  town  lots 
to  consist  of  an  half  acre,  and  their  out  lots  of  five 
acres,  with  a  generosity  of  purpose,  which  would  be 
extra '"a2"^T'.t  in  some  parts  of  Kentucky  in  tliese  times. 

Another  party  landed  at  the  present  site  of  Louis 
ville.  tra  veling  up  the  Kentucky  River.    There  were 


DISSATISFACTION    OF    THE    INDIANS.  10^ 

thus  scattered  over  tlie  wilderness  oonntry  successive 
parties  of  Virginians,  each  actively  occupied  in  the 
possession  of  the  land,  in  arranging  it  in  order,  and  in 
facilitating  the  23lans  of  Washington  for  its  division 
among  the  soldiery  of  the  French  War.  To  all  the 
perils  of  privation,  of  whatever  rendered  the  travel 
difficult,  these  men  were  inured.  Since  the  bold  da- 
ring of  Boone  had  enabled  him  to  brave  all  these 
alone,  it  would  have  been  pusillanimous  in  a  party  of 
men  to  have  quailed  or  faltered.  The  chief  danger, 
of  course,  was  w^itli  the  Indians. 

The  treaty  of  Fort  Stanw^ix,  in  1768,  might  have 
been  sufficiently  comprehended  by  the  chiefs  engaged 
in  it,  but  the  interior  of  the  Colony  of  ]^ew  York  was 
too  far  off  to  be  considered  by  the  great  mass  of  the 
nation,  or  by  many  included  within  the  powerful 
confederacy  of  the  Six  IS'ations,  as  the  place  in  which 
their  title  to  a  great  and  fertile  territory  was  to  be  ex- 
tinguished. "  The  Indian  nations,"  Filson  says,  "  not 
concerned  in  the  grant,  became  dissatisfied  with  the 
prospect  of  a  settlement  which  might  become  so  dan- 
gerous a  thorn  in  their  side,  and  committed  some 
massacres  upon  the  first  explorers  of  the  countr3^^• 
The  "some  massacres"  so  coolly  talked  about,  inclu 
ded  the  dreadful  slaughter  which  checked  and  des 
troyed  the  expedition  which,  under  the  auspices  and 
directions  of  Daniel  Boone,  had,  under  sucli  fair  pros 
pects,  started  from  the  Yadkin. 


t02  LIFE   OF   DANIEL    IIOONE. 

Tliese  men  were  in  danger,  (rovernor  Dunmore 
perceived  their  peril,  and  counseled  as  to  the  best 
raeans  for  their  rescue.  The  times  were  dark  in  all 
quarters  of  the  country.  Between  the  Crown  and 
the  Colonies  there  was  no  longer  love  or  loyalty,  and 
the  fierce  passions  of  war  were  stirring,  in  all  theif 
full  sway,  the  savage.  To  him,  the  Fort  Stanwiij 
treaty  was  soon  to  be  only  the  hated  memory  of  an 
act  of  subserviency. 

The  Governor  of  Virginia  sought  the  man  for  the 
exigency.  When  the  death  of  James  Boone  and 
those  who  perished  with  him,  broke  up  the  expedition 
from  the  Yadkin  and  Powell's  Valley,  as  has  been  be- 
foul stated,  the  voice  of  the  majority  was  controlling, 
and  the  party  returned,  making  the  end  of  their  jour- 
ney the  settlements  on  Clinch  River.  Here 'Boone 
remained  quietly  and  peaceably,  during  seven  months. 
It  was  a  strange  end  to  that  journey  so  nobly  begun. 
A  winter  of  calm  domestic  incident,  among  the  set- 
tlements of  a  secure  land,  was  not  that  on  which  he 
had  built  his  projects.  He  expected  a  winter  in  the 
land  which  he  had  explored ;  a  camp  guarded  and 
protected  by  the  power  of  Heaven,  only  by  ceaseless 
vigilance.  He  had  anticipated  the  possession  of  the 
wildest  and  widest  range  for  his  rifle  that  the  keenest 
hunter  could  have  desired.  He  had  believed  that  his 
followers  would  have  been  all  gathered  around  him, 
»evoling  in  the  luxuriance  c '  the  rich  land  to  which 


103 

be  had  brono^lit  them.  All  this  the  Tnrlian  had  fnis 
trated,  and  the  keenest  incident  of  their  cruelty  waa 
the  death  of  his  son  ;  and  yet  he  seems  patient!}^  to 
have  gone  to  the  settlement,  seeing  with  strong  sense 
that,  for  the  time,  this  was  the  wisest.  Boone  had 
not  ceased  to  believe  himself  "  an  instrument  ordain- 
ed to  settle  the  wilderness,"  and  he  rested  till  the  oc- 
casion for  the  continuation  of  this  great  work  should 
present  itself. 

The  boldness  and  daring,  the  calm  enterprise  ol 
Boone,  had  made  his  name  know  n.  It  had  reached 
the  high  and  aristocratic  Court  of  Yirginia  —  for  such 
was  the  Government  of  that  Colony  —  that  one  man 
had  traversed  the  mountain,  and  over  every  danger, 
and  through  every  difficulty,  had  reached  the  glorious 
country  of  Kentucky ;  had,  with  perseverance  and  a 
courage  deserving  the  epithet  of  sublime,  not  from 
fanaticism,  or  the  dread  of  or  aversion  for  his  species, 
made  his  distinct  occupation  of  the  land  he  had  cho- 
sen, and  in  the  midst  of  all  had  been  calm,  and  after 
all  had  been  patient  and  firm ;  who  had,  with  all  the 
perils  and  persecutions  of  the  pioneer  and  the  prison- 
er, neither  been  revengeful  nor  bloody ;  and  whose 
character  seemed  fitted  to  be  that  of  the  leader  and 
the  father  of  a  country.  Governor  Dunmore  sent  to 
Boone,  and,  as  Boone  tells  the  incident,  "solicited  Iiim 
to  go  to  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio,  to  conduct  into  the  set- 
♦V<iment  a  number  of  surveyors  that  liad  been  seni 


104: 


LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 


thither  by  him  some  montlis  before  —  this  country 
having,  about  this  time,  drawn  the  attention  of  many 
adv^enturers."  The  summons  from  Court,  the  "  soli- 
citation "  by  the  Governor,  must  have  produced  its 
sensation  in  the  quiet  settlement  on  the  Clincli.  To 
the  wife  of  Boone  it  must  have  seemed  like  the  call 
to  new  trials  The  husband  and  father  was  to  be  ex- 
posed to  the  perils  which  had  deprived  her  of  her  son. 
To  the  settlers  the  occasion  was  one  in  which  they 
felt  pride,  since  it  evidenced  that,  out  of  all  the  coun- 
try, their  leader  ana  companion  had  been  selected  aa 
tlie  pei'son  most  deserving  of  the  confidence  of  the 
Head  of  the  State. 


biLv^Kuu»^..^^^-,j^..r:;r" 


CHAPTEE    \^I. 

BO0I7K  AND  9  X)NER  PENETRATE  THE  WILDERNESS  EIGHT  HUNDRED  MILKS,  tl 

THE  FALLS  OF  THE  OHIO THEY    FIND  THE  PARTY  OF  JAMES  HARROD,   AND 

WARN  THEM  OF  INDIAN  HOSTILITIES LOR^  DUNMORE  ASSIGNS    BOONE   TO 

A  MILITARY  COMMAND BATTLE  OF  POINT  PLEASANT BOONE  RETURNS  TO 

HIS  FAMILY FERTILITY  AND    BEAUTY  OF  THE  WEST RICHARD    HENDER- 
SON  HIS  PROJECT  OF  A  COLONY BOONE  IS    SENT  ON  A  MISSION  TO    TUB 

INDIANS  BY    LORD  DUNMORE HIS    SUCCESS BOONE    EMPLOYED  TO  OPErN 

A  ROAD  FROM  THE  HOLSTON  TO  THE  KENTUCKY  RIVER HOSTILITY  OF  THB 

INDIANS LETTER  TO  COLONEL  HENDERSON. 

Boone  says  "  he  immediately  complied  with  the 
Governor's  request."  The  promptitude  and  courage 
of  the  man  was  shown  in  the  act.  Undoubtedly  it 
was  a  most  welcome  service.  That  winter  must  have 
been  to  him  a  period  of  plans  and  purposes,  which 
found  realization  in  this  commission.  "One  Michael 
Stoner  "  was  associated  with  him.  Stoner  was,  liko 
himself,  a  pioneer.  He  had  hunted  on  Cumberland 
River,  and  was  familiar  with  wood-craft.  He  after 
wards  was  conspicuous  in  the  frontier  conflicts,  and 
was  wounded  at  Boonesborough.  Hardy,  and  bold^ 
and  adventurous  as  he  doubtless  was,  it  seems  that 
he  had  tlie  rare  wisdom  of  taking  good  cai'e  of  hiiu 


106  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

Belf,  and  from  all  the  perils  of  the  border  war,  secu 
ring  for  himself  a  good  share  of  the  land  he  had  as- 
sisted in  subduing.  When,  in  after  years,  the  court 
assembled  to  vindicate  and  arrange  the  accuracy  of 
the  land  titles,  S  toner  receiver  the  following  certificate. 

"  Michael  Stoner,  this  day  appeared,  and  claimed  a  right 
to  a  settlement,  and  preemption  to  a  tract  of  land  lying  on 
Stoner's  Fork,  a  branch  of  the  South  Fork  of  Licking,  about 
twelve  miles  above  Licking  station,  by  making  corn  in  the 
country  in  the  year  1775,  and  improving  the  said  land  in  the 
year  1776;  satisfactory  proof  being  made  to  the  court,  they 
are  of  the  opinion,  that  the  said  Stoner  had  a  right  to  a  set- 
tlement of  four  hundred  acres  of  land,  including  the  above 
mentioned  improvements,  and  a  preemption  of  one  thousand 
acres  adjoining  the  same,  and  that  a  certificate  issue  accord- 

■^giy." 

With  this  suitable  companion  Boone  left  the  Clinch. 
It  has  been  stated  that  the  reason  why  Boone  and  hia 
expedition  remained  during  the  winter,  after  the  death 
of  James  Boone,  at  Clinch,  was  that  they  were  kept 
in  check  by  the  Indians,  but  this  does  not  seem  prob- 
able, since,  as  soon  as  Lord  Dunmore  communicated 
his  request  to  Boone,  he  started  off — himself  and 
Stoner  traversing  the  scene  of  all  the  danger,  and  ar- 
riving safely  at  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio ;  tracking  their 
way  through  the  wilderness,  and  by  their  skill  and  by 
their  bravery,  accomplishing  with  honor  to  themseiveg 
the  important  mission  of  deliverance  ;  completing  a 
tour  of  eight  hundred  miles,  through   every  speciei 


BOONE  AND  STONEK's  JOITRNEY.  lO'* 

of  obstacle,  or,  as  "Roo^'^  morlestly  calls  it  "many 
difficulties,"  in  sixty-tw »_  days.* 

It  is  sad  to  think  that  of  a  journey  so  interesting 
those  who  participated  in  it  have  left  so  few  meniori 
als.  Its  record  by  Boone  is  of  the  most  brief  and  unsat- 
isfactory kind.  Yet,  it  was  not  devoid  of  interest, 
and  to  Boone  it  must  have  been  of  the  greatest  mo- 
ment. His  very  journey  resulted  from  his  own  la 
bors.  He  saw  how  rapidly  his  movement  had  been 
followed,  and  how  soon  the  adventurous  and  enter 
prising  had  pushed  through  the  gate  himself  had 
opened  ;  and  wherever  he  went,  those  who  had  reared 
their  cabin  cheered  the  brave  Pioneer  whose  lead 
they  had  followed. 

At  their  settlement,  Boone  found  the  party  of  James 
Harrod,  and  it  was  part  of  the  duty  to  which  Gov- 
ernor Dunmore  had  assigned  Boone  and  Stoner,  to 
warn  the  settlers  that  the  JSTorthern  Indians  had  be- 
come hostile.     It  would  have  been  well  for  this  com- 

*  One  of  the  party  whom  he  rescued  was  John  Floyd,  a  aame 
memorable  in  the  annals  of  Virginia,  as  associated  with  its  bravery, 
its  honors,  its  eloquence.  The  region  west  of  the  mountains  wat 
considered  as  part  of  Fincastle  county,  Virginia.  Of  this  Col. 
Preston  was  the  chief  surveyor.  Floyd  acted  as  his  deputy  and 
as  such  was  sent  out  by  Lord  Dunmore.  His  career  in  after  life, 
though  terminated  by  a  murderous  assault  from  the  savage  foe,  was 
eonspicuous  in  the  history  of  the  country,  and  it  is  interesting  to 
know  that  on  a  memorable  occasion  in  Boone's  life,  when  he  sought 
to  rescue  beloved  members  of  his  own  family,  Col.  Floyd  wa.^  of  the 
party  who  aided  him.  Such  is  the  destiny  of  a  heroic  deed.  It  it 
trausiTigrated  into  anoth©* 


108  LIFE  OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

pany  had  they  given  imiiiediate  heed  to  the  informa 
tion  thus  communicated  to  them.  Tlie  Harrod  party 
remained  at  their  settlement  till  July  20.  At  that 
time,  some  of  his  men  having  discovered  a  spring 
near  tlieir  town,  to  which  they  had  assigned  the  pretty, 
plagiarised  title  of  Fontainhlau — were  remaining 
around  their  discovery.  The  Indians  made  one  of 
their  characteristic  and  sudden  attacks,  killing  one 
of  their  number,  and  dispersing  the  others.  One  of 
them  returned  safely  to  Harrod's  camp.  The  other 
(and  the  incident  is  characteristic  of  the  strange  and 
unexpected  results  which  are  woven  in  the  lives  of 
these  men)  made  for  the  trail  that  led  to  the  Falls, 
(where  Louisville  now  is,)  and  descending  the  Ohio, 
and  even  the  great  Mississippi,  in  a  bark  canoe,  does 
not  seem  to  have  rested  till  he  got  around  to  Phila- 
delphia by  sea*!  If  all  this  journey  was  the  result 
of  one  fright  by  Indians,  this  man  could  not  have 
been  of  the  stuff  of  which  the  race  of  pioneers  were 
formed.  And  yet  there  was  some  courage  in  this 
voyage  in  a  bark  canoe ;  such  boats  being  occasion 
ally  formed  only  with  tomahawk  and  knife,  with  which 
a  tree  would  be  cut  down  and  skinned  —  begun  at 
Bunrise  and  finished  at  sundown. 

The  judgment  of  Lord  Dunmore  in  respect  to  the 
probability  of  hostilities  with  the  Indians,  was  veri- 
fied. The  Shawanees,  occupying  the  Great  and  Little 
Miami,  and  other  of  the  Northwestern  Indians,  deter 


THE  IIsTDIANS  DETERMINE  TO  FIGHT.  10^ 

mined  to  fight.     They  saw  the  rich  possessi  m  of  theii 
fathers  lading  from  them,  for  since  the  attention  ol 
the  settlers  had  been  given  to  the  Kentucky,  the  rapid 
increase  in  number  of  the  occupants  taught  them  that 
a  very  difi'erent  destiny  was  before  them,  than  wlien 
a  solitary  mdividual,  like  Boone,  songlit  their  wilder- 
ness.    They  went  to  the  fight  with  the  conviction,  in 
some  minds,  that  they  could  crush  at  once  the  emi- 
gration, and,  in  all  probability,  with  the  belief  in  the 
minds  of  others,  even  among  those  savage  tribes,  that 
the  day  of  the  Eed  Man  would  soon  be  over.     Boone 
speaks  of  this  war   as  "the   campaign  which  Gov- 
ernor Dunmore   carried   on   against   the   Shawanee 

Indians." 

Of  all  that  Boone  and  Stoner  did,  in  their  sixty- 
two  days'  journey,  the  imperfect  record  furnishes 
few  facts.  Undoubtedly  Boone  from  place  to  place 
continued  his  research  into  the  capacities  of  the  new 
country,  and  stored  away  in  his  mind  those  points  in 
its  topography  where  the  white  man  would  soonest 
find  facilities  for  his  settlement.  Of  the  rich  lands  — 
the  abundant  pasturage  — the  hunting  ground  — the 
waterpower  — the  forest,  he  informed  himself  thor- 
oughly.  His  selection  by  the  Government  had  given 
him  a  confidence  that  his  labor  in  the  progress  of  do- 
minion over  the  wilderness,  was  recognized  and  ap- 
preciated by  his  fellow  men. 

The  perseverance  and  yigor  which  must  have  char 


110  LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

acterized  tliis  journey  — the  great  distance  traveled, 
in  the  very  midst  of  that  which,  in  the  full  sense  of 
the  term,  was  an  enemy's  country  —  makes  this  one 
of  the  most  remarkable,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  hon- 
ors ole,  of  the  incidents  of  the  life  of  this  great  man. 

That  to  the  Virginian  Court  the  performance  of 
this  duty  by  Boone,  had  been  most  satisfactory,  is 
evidenced  by  the  fact,  that  immediately  upon  the 
close  of  his  trust.  Governor  Dunmore  assigned  him 
to  a  military  command.  It  is  curious  to  note  the  dif- 
ferent language  which  Boone  uses,  in  his  own  narra- 
tive in  relation  to  this.  When  he  had  been  deputed 
to  the  first  service,  he  says  he  was  solicited  by  the 
Governor.  When  the  military  office  was  bestowed, 
he  says  he  was  "  ordered  to  take  the  command  of 
three^arrisons ; "  so  soon  did  he  fall  into  the  language, 
as  undoubtedly  he  did  into  the  habits  and  discipline, 
of  the  soldier.  These  garrisons  were  upon  the  fron- 
tier;  the  Governor  Avisely  judging  that  to  the  man 
who  could  evade  and  baffle  the  savages  while  alone, 
during  months  of  residence  and  the  travel  of  many 
hundreds  of  miles,  might  be  safely  committed  the 
very  out-posts  of  the  war. 

This  campaign  ended  with  the  battle  of  Point 
Pleasant,  fought  where  the  Great  Kenhawa  and  the 
Ohio  rivers  join.  It  is  the  bloodiest  battle  in  the  re- 
cords of  Virginia,  with  its  Indian  foe.  'The  Virgin- 
ians, eleven  hundred  strong,  were  under  the  comrDaftd 


BATTLE    OF    POINT   PLEASANT.  11  ^ 

of  General  Andrew  Lewis.  The  Indians  were  led  by 
tlieir  celebrated  chief,  Cornstalk.  In  the  Shawanese 
tribe  and  Confederacy,  he  was  first.  He  had  the 
ability  to  lead,  and  the  battle,  under  such  control, 
could  not  but  be  decisive,  and  it  was  so.  The  In- 
dians fought  desperately,  and  in  the  records  of  the 
dead  and  wounded,  left  bitter  memories  of  their 
prowess.  The  loss  was  very  severe  to  the  Virginians, 
seventy-five  being  killed,  and  one  hundred  and  forty 
wounded.  This  ended  the  campaign,  and  it  was  felt 
throughout  all  the  Indian  I^ations. 

Boone,  after  the  same  careful  and  satisfactory  dis- 
charge of  his  duty,  returned  to  his  family,  at  Clinch 
River,  passing  the  winter  in  hunting,  as  an  occupation 
suited  to  his  vigorous  energies,  and,  in  all  probability, 
framing  in  his  mind  new  thought  of  future  plans  for 
the  occupation  of  the  new  country. 

Before  entering  on  the  next  epoch  in  the  life  of  this 
remarkable  man,  it  will  be  of  interest  to  notice  the 
opinion  which  others  entertained  of  the  magnitude^ 
—  of  the  value  of  the  country  to  which  he  stood  in 
the  relation  almost  of  a  discoverer  —  certainly  in  that 
of  the  Pioneer.  Kentucky  was  to  the  enterprising  a 
field  of  hope.  There,  all  that  had  been  fancied  of  s 
rich  and  luxuriant  country,  free  to  the  adventurous, 
and  in  which  the  enterprising  were  to  find,  so  soon  a& 
the  blessing  of  a  good  government  should  be  extend- 
ed over  it,  every  good  that  the  remunerating  tillage 


112  LLbE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

of  thii  earth  could  furnisli  —  in  Kentuckj,  all  this  was 
to  be  realized.  The  language  used  by  Boone  and 
Finley,  was  repeated  in  less  inflated  and  in  calmei 
^■-erms,  but  with  a  meaning  of  equal  strength,  by  those 
who  necessarily  came  out  to  see  this  good  land  for 
themselves.  It  had  a  value  which  they  felt  would 
repay  the  severe  toil  its  occupancy  was  costing,  and 
would  cost,  and  there  were  those  who,  like  Boone, 
lived  to  see  the  greatness  of  the  Free  State  realize  — 
more  than  realize  —  all  that,  when  they  looked  upoa 
it  in  its  original  beauties,  had  been  uttered  and  delin- 
eated. Imlay  gives  his  sketch  of  its  appearance, 
which  while  rhapsodical  and  poetical,  is  yet  indicative 
of  the  impression  upon  the  early  traveler. 

"  Everything  here  assumes  a  dignity  and  splendor,  I  have 
never  seen  in  any  other  part  of  the  world.  You  ascend  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  shore  of  the  Ohio,  and  when 
you  would  suppose  you  had  arrived  at  the  summit  of  a 
mountain,  you  find  yourself  upon  an  extensive  level  Here 
an  eternal  verdure  reigns,  and  the  brilliant  sun  of  latitude 
390  piercing  through  the  azure  heavens,  produces  in  this 
prolific  soil  an  early  maturity,  Avhich  is  truly  astonishing. 
Flowers,  full  and  perfect,  as  if  they  had  been  cultivated  by 
the  hand  of  a  florist,  with  all  their  captivating  odors,  and 
with  all  the  variegated  charms  which  color  and  nature  can 
produce,  here,  in  the  lap  of  elegance  and  beauty,  decorate  the 
smiling  groves.  Soft  zephyrs  gently  breathe  on  sweets,  and 
the  inhaled  air  gives  a  voluptuous  glow  of  health  and  vigor, 
that  seems  to  ravish  the  intoxicated  senses.  The  sweet  son^. 
f  era  of  the  fl^rest  appear  to  feel  the  irjfluence  of  the  genial 


VIRGINIA   ENCOUKAGES   THE    SETTLERS.  112 

cliir.r'*,  and  in  more  soft,  and  modulated  tones  warble  theii 
tender  notes,  in  unison  with  love  and  nature.  Everything 
nere  gives  delight,  and  in  that  wild  effulgency  which  beama 
around  us,  we  feel  a  glow  of  gratitude,  for  the  elevation  which 
our  all  bountiful  Creator  has  bestowed  upon  us.  You  must 
forgive  what  I  know  you  will  call  rhapsody,  but  what  I  really 
experienced  after  traveling  across  the  Alleghany  Mountain 
in  March,  when  it  was  covered  with  snow,  and  after  finding 
the  country  about  Pittsburgh  bare,  and  not  recovered  from 
the  ravages  of  winter.  There  was  scarcely  a  blade  of  grass 
to  be  seen  ;  everything  looked  dreary,  and  bore  those  raarka 
of  melancholy  which  the  rude  fi'ost  produces.  I  embarked 
jnmediately  for  Kentucky,  and  in  less  than  nine  days  landed 
at  Limestone,  where  I  found  nature  robed  in  all  her  charms." 


Virginia  now  determined  to  encourage  the  settle- 
ment of  a  land  which  promised  to  be,  in  its  wide  ex 
tent  and  unexampled  fertility,  so  useful  and  so  pow- 
erful. The  authorities  offered  four  hundred  acres  of 
land  to  every  person  who  engaged  to  build  a  cabin, 
clear  a  piece  of  land,  and  produce  a  crop  of  Indian 
corn.  This  was  called  a  settlement-right.  Many  of 
these  settlements  were  made,  when  a  new  and  extra- 
ordinary feature  in  the  history  of  Kentucky  presented 
itself,  and  one  with  which  Boone  was  intimately 
connected. 

Iwichard  Henderson,  of  North  Carolina,  had  grown 
up  to  maturity  before  he  could  read  and  write,  and 
only  acquired  these  foundation  branches  of  education 
by  perseverance  at  a  period  when,  as  the  early  love 


114  LIFE    OF   DAKIEL   BOONE 

of  learning  has  not  been  fostered,  it  is  often  most  difli 
cult  to  form.  He  began  life  as  a  constable,  but  po8 
sessing  genius,  and  that  power  of  voice  and  expres- 
sion  in  conversation  and  public  speaking  which  is  the 
real  eloquence,  he  adopted  the  profession  of  the  law 
always  most  infljiential  in  a  new  settlement.  A  Brit- 
ish traveler,  (Dr.  Smyth,)  an  agent  of  Lord  Dunmore 
describes  him  as  of  superior  genius,  with  amazing 
talent,  and  of  a  manner  so  agreeable  as  to  leave  him 
without  a  single  enemy  ;  and  that,  while  a  very  young 
man,  he  was  appointed  Associate  Chief  Judge  of 
North  Carolina.  Evidently,  to  this  gentleman  even 
his  judicial  honors  did  not  afford  sufficient  dignity, 
and  he  struck  out  a  bold  path  —  one  of  the  boldest 
ever  attempted  by  any  American.  He  spent  his  mo- 
ney somewhat  too  freelj^,  and  Dr.  Smith  observes  that 
his  extensive  genius  struck  out  a  bolder  road  to  for- 
tune and  fame  than  any  one  before  him  had  ever  at- 
tempted. He  founded  a  colony.  He  was  not  content 
with  any  possession  but  a  principality.  Dr.  Smyth 
thus  rapidly  sketches  this  new  grasp  at  empire : 

"  Under  pretence  of  viewing  some  back  lands,  he  privately 
weiit  out  to  the  Cherokee  nation  of  Indians,  and  for  an  insig- 
nificant consideration,  (only  ten  wagons  loaded  with  cheap 
goods,  some  fire  arms  and  spirituous  liqnors,)  made  a  pur- 
oha^^e,  from  the  chiefs  of  the  nation,  of  a  vast  tract  of  terri- 
tory, eijual  in  extern  to  a  kingdom,  and  in  the  excellence  of 
climate  and  soil,  extent  of  its  rivers,  and  beautiful  elegance 
of  situations,  inferior  to  none  11  the  universe.     A  domain  of 


HENDEKSOk's   rUliCilASK  115 

no  less  than  one  hundred  miles  square,  sitaated  on  the  bacK 
or  interior  part  of  Virginia,  and  of  North  and  South  Caro- 
lina;  comprehending  the  rivers  Kentucky,  Cherokee  and 
Ohio,  besides  a  variety  of  inferior  rivulets,  delightful  and 
charming  as  imagination  can  conceive.  This  transaction  he 
kept  a  profound  secret,  until  such  time  as  he  obtained  the 
final  ratification  of  the  whole  nation  in  form.  Then  he  im- 
mediately invited  settlers  from  all  the  Provinces,  offering 
them  lands  on  the  most  advantageous  terms,  and  proposing 
to  them,  likewise,  to  form  a  legislature  and  government  of 
their  own ;  such  as  might  be  most  convenient  to  their  par- 
ticular  circumstances  of  settlement.  And  he  instantly  va- 
cated his  seat  on  the  bench.  Mr.  Henderson  by  this  means 
established  a  new  colony,  numerous  and  respectable,  ot 
which  he  himself  was  virtually  proprietor  as  well  as  gover- 
nor, and  indeed  legislator  also ;  having  framed  a  code  of 
laws  particularly  adapted  to  their  singular  situation  and  local 
circumstances. 

"  In  vain  did  the  different  Governors  fulminate  their  pro 
clamations  of  outlawry  against  him  and  his  people ;  in  vain 
did  they  offer  rewards  for  apprehending  him,  and  forbid  ev- 
ery person  from  joining  or  repairing  to  his  settlement ;  un- 
der the  sanction  and  authority  of  a  general  law,  that  ren- 
ders the  formal  assent  of  the  Governors  and  Assemblies  of 
the  different  Provinces  absolutely  necessary  to  vindicate  the 
purchase  of  any  lands  from  the  Indian  nations.  For  this  in- 
stance being  the  act  of  the  Indians  themselves,  they  defended 
him  and  his  colony,  being  in  fact  as  a  bulwark  and  barrier 
between  Virginia,  as  well  as  North  and  8outh  Carolina,  and 
him ;  his  territory  lying  to  the  westward  of  their  nation  " 

An  authority  more  reliable  than  that  of  Doctor 
Smyth  —  the  intelligent  and  well  judging  Governs 


116  LIFE    OF    D.1^^1KL    BuONE. 

Morehead  —  recites  the  fouDcling  of  Trausjlvauia  in 
an  interesting  detail. 

"In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1774,  there  originated  in 
North  Carolina,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  schemes  of 
ambition  and  speculation,  which  was  exhibited  in  an  age 
pregnant  with  such  events.  Eight  private  gentleme.i  — 
Richard  Henderson,  William  Johnston,  Nathaniel  Hart,  John 
Tuttrel,  David  Hart,  John  Williams,  James  Hogg,  and 
Leonard  Henley  Bullock,  contrived  the  project  of  purchas 
ing  a  large  tract  of  country,  in  the  west,  from  the  Cherokee 
Indians,  and  provisionary  arrangements  were  made,  with  a 
view  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  object,  for  a  treaty  to 
be  held  with  them  in  the  ensuing  year.  Tliis  was  the  cele. 
brated  Transylvania  company,  which  formed  so  singular  a 
connexion  with  our  early  annals.  In  March,  1775,  Col.  Hen- 
derson, on  behalf  of  his  associates,  met  the  chiefs  of  the  Che- 
rokees,  who  were  attended  by  twelve  hundred  warriors,  at 
a  fort  on  the  Wataga,  the  south-eastern  branch  of  the  Hol- 
ston  River.  A  council  was  held,  the  terms  were  discussed, 
the  purchase  was  consummated  —  including  the  whole  tract 
of  country  between  the  Cumberland  and  Kentucky  rivers." 

This  treaty,  so  curiously  formed  by  these  adventur- 
ous gentlemen  with  the  Indians,  and  which  transferred 
to  them,  for  a  brief  time  at  least,  a  sovereignity  so  ex- 
tensive, was  held  at  Wataga,  an  Indian  Town,  sit- 
uated on  the  south  branch  of  the  Ilolston  River.  Ai 
Boone  had  been  selected  by  Lord  Dunmore  to  guido 
through  the  wilderness  his  best  surveyors,  so  was  liis 
sagacity  and  skill  recognized  in  this  new  trust.  He 
was,  in  fact,  the  man  who  was  relied  upon  to  securQ 


TREATY   WITH   THE   INDIANS.  117 

the  possession  of  tin's  vast  conntrv.  He  had  hoon 
(the  Indians  must  have  known  it  well,)  the  man  to 
whom,  the  whites  were  indebted  for  their  knowledge 
of  the  rich  and  beautiful  land  which  was  once  all 
their  own,  in  undisturbed  possession,  and  which,  but 
for  the  courage  and  perseverance  of  Boone,  might 
have  been  in  their  possession  for  years ;  for  it  has 
been  said  by  good  authority,  that  the  conduct  of  Boone 
anticipated  for  the  whites  the  possession  of  that  noble 
land,  many  years  ahead  of  the  period  when,  by  the 
succession  of  events,  it  would  have  fallen  to  them. 
The  Indians  saw  in  Boone,  the  man  who  had  wrought 
all  this,  and  yet  he  had  never  given  them  personal 
cause  for  hatred  or  revenge.  This  is  the  marked  dif- 
ference  between  Boone  and  the  other  Pioneers.  He 
went  out  to  possess ;  too  many  of  them  went  forth  to 
slay  and  destroy.  Boone  was  chosen  to  represent 
the  intending  proj^rietors  in  their  immediate  nego- 
tiations. The  treaty  was  most  numerously  attended. 
There  twelve  hundred  warriors  saw  the  great  Hunter, 
and  the  greater  Pioneer.  The  chiefs  of  the  Chero- 
kees  saw  for  themselves,  who  it  was  that  had  souo-ht 
out  their  land.  And  yet,  so  wisely  was  this  coun- 
cil directed,  that  it  resulted,  as  has  been  stated,  in  the 
acquisition. 

Doctor  Smyth  thinks  tk  ^  consideration  paid,  a  tri- 
fling one,  but  it  is  elsewhere,  with  greater  probability 
Btated  to  have  been  ten  thousand  pounds  sterling,  in 


118  LITE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

[roods.  The  nnconpcionfi'hlc  profit  realised  m  Indian 
trades,  may  somewhat  reduce  this  high  sounding  cost 

Jndge  Hall  thinks  this  purchase  was  the  result  of 
the  careful  examination  and  accurate  secret  informa- 
tion obtained  by  Boone  on  his  first  journey,  when,  as 
the  learned  Judge  thinks,  he  was  acting  as  the  coiifi- 
dential  agent  of  those  who,  afterward,  became  the 
proprietors  of  the  Transylvania  Colony.  If  this  be 
so,  never  was  an  agent  more  faithful ;  and  the  fact 
that  a  company  of  men,  intelligent  and  prominent 
Buch  as  these  were,  should  hinge  the  great  purpose 
of  their  life  on  his  statement,  is  a  vivid  illustration  of 
the  real  greatness  of  his  character.  He  sagaciously 
kept  his  counsel  and  theirs.  He  thoroughh^  fulfilled 
all  that  had  been  intrusted  to  him.  John  Quincy 
Adams  said  of  La  Fayette,  that  he  had  the  great  tal- 
ent of  always  being  adequate  to  the  duty  to  which 
he  was  designated. 

When  these  proprietors  had  accomplished  their  ne- 
gotiation with  the  Indians,  their  next  step  was  to  pro- 
vide for  the  settlement  and  survey  of  their  possessions, 
and  Boone  was  immediately  selected.  He  had  dis- 
30vered  the  country,  negotiated  for  it,  and  was  now 
to  make  the  first  mark  of  civilization  upon  it,  in  the 
exploration  and  opening  of  a  road  from  the  settlement 
OTi  the  Ilolston,  to  the  Kentucky  River.  This  was  no 
light  labor.  In  the  cane-brakes  and  the  hills,  there 
would  have  been  work  enough  in  peaceable  times  to 


OPENING   OF   THE   ROAD.  119 

have  found  a  path  through  the  wiklerness ;  how  m^Toh 
more,  when,  a  savage  and  treacherous  race  was  all 
around,  who  would  very  readily  find  loop  holes  enough 
m  a  treaty  to  put  a  musket  hall  through,  especially 
as  every  mile  of  the  road  was  a  presage  of  their  own 
downfall. 

He  had  assigned  to  him  to  aid  in  this  service,  a 
company  of  men,  well  armed.  Boone  says  they  were 
all  enterprising  men,  as  they  had  need  to  be,  if  the}> 
were  to  follow  Boone  through  the  wilderness.  Ho 
was  "  to  mark  out  a  road  in  the  best  passage  from  the 
settlement,  through  the  wilderness,  to  Kentucky,  with 
Buch  assistance  as  he  thought  necessary."  It  was  a 
perilous  task,  but  Boone  was  at  home  in  the  woods, 
and  knew  all  the  mysteries  of  campaigning  there 
In  the  clearing  he  was  to  make,  would  soon  follow  the 
pack-horses  and  wagons,  in  which  Colonel  Henderson 
was  to  essay  the  furtherance  of  his  settlement.  Again 
Boone  left  his  family  for  a  scene  of  peril  and  ex- 
posure. It  will  be  seen  shortly,  that  these  constant 
absences  were  becoming  intolerable,  and  were  rem 
^died. 

On  went  the  road-makers  :  the  road  is  the  compan- 
on  of  civilization.  The  treaty  vv^as  held  in  March, 
and  the  pioneers  appear  to  have  been  immediately 
set  at  work,  as  Colonel  Henderson  was  a  man  of  em 
ergy,  and  it  is  very  probable,  thought  tliat  the  sooner 
he  reduced  into  actual  possession  his  new  territory 


120  LIFE    OF   DAJSriEL   BOONE. 

tlie  better.  Tliey  accomplished  their  work  rapidlj 
and  without  serious  obstacle,  until  tliey  had  arrivec 
at  a  spot,  within  fifteen  miles  of  the  present  Boones- 
borough.  Here  the  Indians  broke  out  in  open  hostil- 
ity. The  road  had  assumed  a  visible  appearance,  and 
the  savages  believed  it  best  to  arrest  its  further  pro- 
gress. They  made  an  assault,  which  proved  fatal  tc 
two  of  Boone's  party ,  thus  making  it  certain  that 
every  movement  towards  the  possession  of  that  land, 
would  be  marked  with  blood.  The  thing  was  a  sur 
ju'ise.  Cool  and  w^ary  as  the  Hunter  was,  the  craft 
of  the  Indian  was  often  his  supei-ior.  Boone  acknow- 
ledges that  in  this  instance  he  was  "  surprised  and 
taken  at  a  disadvantage ; "  but  he  declares,  like  a  sol- 
dier, that  he  and  his  party  stood  their  ground.  The 
Indian  was  not  satisfied  with  this.  He  followed  up 
liis  attacks  rapidly,  and  the  company,  in  three  days 
afterwards,  lost  two  men  more.  Of  this  Boone  gives, 
in  a  letter  to  Colonel  Henderson,  an  interesting  ac 
count : 

April  1st,  1775. 
Dear  Colonel: 

^'  After  my  coniph'Tnents  to  yon,  I  shall  acquaint  yon  with 
our  misfortunes.  On  March  the  25th,  a  party  of  Indians 
fired  on  my  company  ahout  half  an  hour  before  day,  ajid 
killed  Mr.  Twitty  and  his  negro,  and  wounded  Mr.  Walker 
very  deeply,  hut  I  hope  he  will  recover. 

"  On  March  the  28th,  as  we  were  hunting  for  provisions, 
we  found  Sinnufl  Tale's  son.   who  iriivc  us  an  account   that 


LETTER   TO    HENDERSON. 


12i 


the  Indians  fired  on  their  camp  on  the  27th  day  My  brother 
and  I  went  down  and  Ibund  two  uicii  killed  and  scalped, 
Thomas  McDowell  and  Jeremiah  McPeters.  I  have  sent  a 
man  down  to  al  I  the  lower  companies  in  order  to  gather  them 
all  to  the  mouth  of  the  Otter  Creek.  My  advice  to  }  ou, 
sir,  is  to  come  or  send  as  soon  as  possible.  Your  company 
is  desired  greatly,  for  the  people  are  very  uneasy,  but  are 
'Willing  to  stay  and  venture  their  lives  with  you;  and  now 
is  the  time  to  flusterate  their  (the  Indians')  intentions,  and 
keep  the  country,  whilst  we  are  in  it.  If  we  give  way  to 
them  now,  it  will  ever  be  the  case.  This  day  we  start  from 
the  battle  ground,  for  the  mouth  of  the  Otter  Creek,  where 
we  shall  immediately  erect  a  fort,  which  will  be  done  before 
you  can  come  or  send ;  then  we  can  send  ten  men  to  meet 
you,  if  you  send  fur  them. 

I  am,  sir,  your  most  obedient 

Daniel  Boone. 
"  N.  B.     We  stood  on  the  ground  and  guarded  our  ba^ 
gage  till  day,  and  lost  nothing.     We  have  about  fifteen  milei 
to  Cantrick's  at  Otter  Creek. 


CHAPTER    YIl. 

•OOm     AND     HIS    COMTANY    BUILD    A    FORT  —  HE     REMOVES    HT8    FAMILY    fC 

IT OTHER  FAMILIES  REMOVE  TO  THK  FORT ARRIVAL  OF  HENDERSON  — 

BOONESBOROUGH TRANSYLVANIA  LAND  COMPANY OTHER  SETTLEMENTS 

—  THE    FIRST    LEGISLATURE BOONE  A    DELEGATE JOHN    FLOYD HEN 

DEKSON's    ADDRESS BOONE    AS  A    LEGISLATOR  —  DIVINE   SERVICE COL. 

Callaway's  family  arrives — the  Indians  capture  three  girls  — 

THE   pursuit    and    THE    RESCUE THE    INDIANS    ATTACK    OTHER  POSTS  — 

INDIAN  MODE  OF  WARFARE THE  WAR  WITH  GREAT  BRITAIN ALARM  OF 

THE  SETTLERS RETURN  OF  MANY  OF  THEM. 

Boone  wrote  the  foregoing  letter  on  the  day  that 
the  building  of  the  fort  was  commenced.  It  was  a 
rude  structure  but  a  strong  one,  and  furnished  a  most 
important  rallying  point  for  the  settlement.  It  wa> 
situated  adjacent  to  the  river,  with  one  of  the  angles 
resting  on  the  bank  near  the  water,  and  extending 
from  it  in  the  form  of  a  parallelogram.  The  length 
was  about  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet,  and  the  breadth 
one  hundred  and  fifty.  Colonel  Henderson  perpetu- 
ated the  remembrance  of  this  famous  garrison,  by 
sketch  of  the  fort,  of  considerable  accuracy  of  detail. 
Butler  says  that  a  fort,  in  those  rude  military  times, 
consisted  of  pieces  of  timber,  sharpened  at  tlie  ends 
and  firmly  lodged  in  the  ground.  Rows  of  these 
oickets  covered  the  desired  space,  which  embraced 


A   FRONTIER    PORT.  12S 

(■lie  cabins  of  the  iiiliahitantp.  Slight  as  all  tins  was, 
to  the  Indian  it  was  formidable,  who  much  rather 
preferred  the  encounter  in  the  open  plain,  or  the 
woods,  or  the  canebrake.  To  the  pioneers,  this  pro- 
tection was  invaluable.  The  fort  built  by  Boone 
seems  to  have  been  very  well  planned  and  construct- 
ed, although  the  clearing  was  just  sufficient  to  admit 
the  fortification,  and  brought  it  in  what  would  seem 
to  us  a  most  uncomfortable  contiguity  of  position  to  the 
woods ;  affording  to  the  foe  a  shelter  and  an  ambush 
directly  at  the  fort.  If  all  the  frontier  forts  had  been 
as  well  built  as  was  this  one,  it  would  have  saved 
great  suffering.  The  corners  had  houses  of  hewn 
logs  projecting  from  them ;  the  spaces  were  filled  up 
with  cabins  of  rough  logs,  close  together.  The  gates 
were  strong  and  stout.  The  fort  was  not  finished  till 
the  fourteenth  day  of  June.  Boone  says,  witli  strong 
simplicity  of  expression,  they  were  "  busily  employed 
about  it."  In  its  progress,  they  lost  one  man  by  the 
attack  of  the  Indians.  The  savage  saw  this  strong 
house  in  their  m^'dst  with  dismay,  for  they  could  see 
in  it  a  strength  that  their  arts  could  not  overthrow 
It  was  the  beginnmg  of  the  end. 

When  the  Pioneer  had  finished  the  fort,  he  saw  in 
it  the  sufficient  guard  for  a  garrison,  and  he  left  a 
company  there,  wdio  should  keep  possession  of  the 
place  and  cultivate  the  land  adjacent.  Two  great 
objects  were  gained.     The  proprietors  of  the  territorj^ 


124  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

hafl  secured  a  central  point  to  which  their  folk  were 
could  resort,  and,  while  there  was  force  enough  there, 
they  could  show  the  Indians,  by  their  pursuit  of  agri- 
culture, that  their  object  was  a  peaceable  one.  Boone 
returned  to  his  family,  and  determined,  at  all  hazards, 
to  remove  them  to  the  settlement.  It  will  be  noticed 
that  under  two  circumstances  only  did  this  truly  brave 
man  seek  to  bring  his  kindred  to  the  beautiful  land 
he  had  discovered,  aware,  as  he  so  thoroughly  was,  of 
all  its  dangers.  The  first  was,  when  he  knew  he  was 
surrounded  by  a  large  and  powerful  company ;  and 
the  second  was,  when  a  fortification  was  built  which 
could  adequately  protect  them.  He  knew  the  civili- 
zing eftect  of  the  society  of  a  wife  and  a  mother,  and 
it  was  in  noble  consistency  with  the  devotion  of  ser- 
vice he  had  rendered  in  all  stations  to  those  in  whose 
employ  he  was,  that  he  desired,  even  at  the  risk  of 
exposure  of  the  kindred  dearest  to  him,  to  give  a  per- 
manency and  a  healthful  vigor  to  the  new  settlement. 
In  the  path  of  one  daring  woman  others  would  fol- 
low, and  the  wife  of  Boone  was  the  one  most  worthy 
of  leading  in  this  valuable  enterprise. 

His  wife  and  daughters  agreed  to  accompany  him. 
Boone  glides  in  his  narrative  rapidly  over  the  circum- 
Btances  of  the  journey,  which  he  says  was  "  safe,  with- 
out any  other  difficulties  than  such  as  are  common  tr 
the  passage,"  to  announce  with  evident  complacency 
and  gratulation,  that  they  were  the  first  white  women 


125 

thai  over  stood  on  the  banks  cf  the  Kentucky  River 
Pioneera  were  they — first  of  a  band  of  heroic,  self 
devoting  women,  who  were  subjected  to  such  sights 
and  sounds  of  horror  as  only  brave  hearts  could  have 
borne,  but  who,  in  the  midst  of  all,  fulfilled  the  home- 
cheering  mission  of  their  sex ;  who  were  surrounded 
by  peril,  but  never  forsook  father,  and  brother,  and 

husband. 

A  distinguished  citizen  of  Kentucky  (Orlando 
Brown,  Esq.)  relates,  in  connection  with  this  subject, 
the  following  incident : 

"An  old  lady  who  had  been  in  the  forts  was  describing  to 
Dr.  Brown  the  scenes  she  had  witnessed  in  those  times  of 
peril  and  adventure ;  and,  among  other  things,  remarked  that 
during  the  first  two  years  of  her  residence  in  Kentucky,  the 
most  comely  sight  she  beheld,  was  seeing  a  young  man  dy- 
ing in  his  bed  a  natural  death.  She  had  been  familiar  with 
blood,  and  carnage,  and  death,  but  in  all  those  cases  the  suf- 
ferers were  the  victims  of  the  Indian  tomahawk  and  scalping 
knife ;  and  that  on  an  occasion  when  a  young  man  was  taken 
sick  and  died,  after  the  usual  manner  of  nature,  she  and  the 
rest  of  the  women  sat  up  all  night,  gazing  upon  him  as  an 
object  of  beauty." 

What  the  ordinary  perils  of  the  journey  were,  may 
be  imagined.  To  traverse  for  hundreds  of  miles  a 
wilderness  where  an  imperfect  road  was  a  curiosity  — 
when,  at  every  thicket,  the  probabilities  were  almost 
even  that  a  foe  would  be  found,  and  when  the  wild 
beast  tracked  ever;    foot-step— these  were  the  inci 


126  LIFE    OF    DAKIEL   BUONE. 

dents  of  the  journey  of  those  females ;  and  to  o.ie  i 
them,  the  remembrance  was  always  present,  that  un 
del  just  such  circumstances  she  had  lost  her  eldest 
Bon,  when  the  best  hopes  of  early  youth  were  with 
liim.  The  shelter  of  the  fort  soon  received  them,  and 
it  was  difficult  to  judge  as  to  which  was  most  wel 
comed,  the  brave  and  reliable  Pioneer,  or  those  who 
came  with  him,  as  evidences  that  there  was  yet  a  con- 
nection between  the  fort  and  the  gentle  and  the  pleas- 
ant things  of  life. 

Mrs.  Boone  was  soon  rewarded  for  her  courage  and 
enterprise.  When  Boone  had  projected  and  in  part 
executed  his  first  great  scheme  of  civilization  —  the 
one  which  was  so  fatally  arrested  near  Cumberland 
Gap  —  there  wer'e  with  him,  as  part  of  the  adventur- 
ous company  of  pioneers,  the  families  of  McGary, 
Ilogan  and  Dexter,  and  they  had  given,  in  terrible 
sacrifice  to  the  new  empire,  tlie  life  of  a  son — their 
loss  having  been  such  as  Boone  experienced  —  for  the 
Indian  seldom  put  his  knife  dee2)er  into  the  home 
of  the  white  man,  than  on  that  dreadful  occasion. 
Events  developed  themselves  in  the  progress  of  this 
history,  to  ])rove  how  faithfully  Boone  had  fulfilled 
the  hope  of  all  who  confided  in  him.  Remembering 
Lis  manly  and  brave  conduct  —  his  patience  —  the 
gentle  manner  in  which  he  had  yielded  to  the  remon- 
Btrances  of  bereaved  mothers,  and  returned,  even  iit 
the  risk  of  every   great  hope  in  him — when  they 


OTHER   FAMILIES    EMlGKAi'E.  llJ< 

beard  that  Boone  was  again  to  test  the  fortunes  of  the 
wilderness,  thej  determined  to  go  with  him,  and  make 
one  more  venture  upon  the  winning  of  the  land  which 
Boone  had  so  truthfully  and  glowingly  described. 

Tne  party  that  started  were  quite  respectable  in 
force.  The  possession  of  twenty-seven  guns  was  an 
argument  which  the  Indian  respected.  After  travel- 
mg  together  for  some  time,  for  some  unexplained  rea- 
son, they  separated.  The  parties  of  McGary,  Denton, 
and  Hogan,  were  left  in  the  rear,  while  Boone  pushed 
on.  Various  fortunes  befell  these,  but  after  losing 
their  way  —  after  leaving  their  cattle  with  those  young 
men  —  all  terminated  safely  by  their  arrival  at  the 
fort. 

The  fort  built  by  Boone,  was,  on  its  completion  the 
signal  for  other  settlements.  As  they  knew  that  they 
could  fall  back  on  this,  in  case  of  extremity,  men  be- 
gan at  this  or  that  favorite  location,  to  make  a  per- 
manent abiding  place.  Such  was  the  influence  of 
the  strong  position  taken  by  him.  He  seems  to  have 
realized  its  value,  and  in  recording  a  skirmish,  which 
darkened  the  day  before  that  which  should  have  been 
their  "  merry  Christmas  "  by  the  loss  of  one  man  by 
the  Indians,  he  says  quaintly,  "  the  Indians  seemed 
detennined  to  persecute  us  for  erecting  this  fortifi 
cation." 

As  the  strength  of  the  fort  became  known,  otlmi 
umigrants  came  in,  among  them  Kichard  Callaway 


t28  LlJ^E    OF    DANIEL    BUUNE. 

but  the  chief  arrival  was  that  of  the  head  of  the  eol 
onj,  Henderson.  He,  with  forty  armed  men,  and 
othei-s  unarmed,  for  unlike  Young  Lochinvar  he  did 
not  ride 

"All  unarmed  and  alone," 

with  all  the  paraphernalia  of  pack-horses,  moved 
their  way  to  the  fort,  designating  it  as  the  future  seat 
of  government  for  the  territory.  The  party  move  J 
on  with  sure  step,  traversing  the  road  which  their 
faithful  pioneer  had  prepared  for  them,  and  without 
which  the  journey,  so  important  in  its  results,  could 
not  have  been  taken.  This  journey  to  take  possession 
of  such  vast  estates,  with  a  company  of  soldier-like 
men,  and  upon  the  path  arranged  for  them  by  the 
great  discover  of  the  country,  had  something  in  it  ol 
the  magnificent,  and  was  one  of  the  extraordinary 
scenes  accompanying  the  career  of  Boone,  most  of 
whose  manhood  seems  to  have  been  passed  amidst 
stirring  incidents. 

Tliere  was  no  want  of  occupation  or  of  the  means 
of  subsistence  for  those  who  were  gatliered  at  the  fort. 
The  great  object  of  the  settlement  was  to  conquer  the 
forest  and  constitute  the  farm ;  this  furnished  work 
enough.     Such  hunters  as  were  assembled  there,  found 

the  fresh  woods  around  them  sufticiency  of  gama 
If  tlie  liuntcr  ventured  too  far  in  his  eager  pursuit,  he 
;\as  remindbd  by  Boone  of  his  danger,  and  the  saga- 
cious counsels  of  their  leader  taught  the  camp  a  dis- 


EXdTlNG    TIM  1:6.  12m 

cipline  which  was  of  inestimable  value.  These  \ver« 
days  when  the  approaching  conflict  with  Great  Brit- 
ain was  commencing  its  agitation  ;  when  the  savageg 
became  aware  that  a  mighty  power  would  soon  be  at 
their  side,  glad  to  enlist  tlieir  prowess  against  the  set 
tier ;  when  thus  from  the  trained  soldier,  and  the  meD 
of  the  Avoods  —  from  the  forest  and  the  field  —  danger 
menaced.  An  intelligent  historian  says,  "  Boone  fig- 
ured in  these  exciting  times,  the  centre  figure,  tower- 
ing like  a  Colossus  amid  that  hardy  band  of  pioneers 
who  opposed  their  breasts  to  the  shock  of  the  struggle 
which  gave  a  terrible  significance  and  a  crimson  hue 
to  the  history  of  the  old  "  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground." 
As  the  events  of  the  opening  scene  of  the  Revolu- 
tion reached  the  settlers,  there  could  be  no  uncertain- 
ty or  doubt  as  to  the  side  which  would  be  espoused 
by  them.  When  the  news  of  the  fight  of  Lexington 
reached  a  party  of  emigrants,  who  had  made  a  rest- 
ing place  near  the  head  waters  of  the  Elkhorn,  w^here 
the  land  lay  smiling  to  the  sun,  they  immediately 
transferred  the  name  of  tht^  battle-field  to  their  own 
new  home.  The  Bay  of  Boston  was  "  a  far  away," 
but  these  gallant  men  of  the  forest  felt  their  pulse 
beat  quick  as  they  listened  to  the  story  of  the  So:id 
of  Liberty.  They  must  have  felt  that  the  incidents 
nf  a  fight  Tor  trecdom  would  not  always  l^e  cor  fined 
to  the  sliores  of  tlie  Atlantic;  and  they  co'ild  not  buj 
V*-tj  realized  that  their  owi>  perils  were  greatly  iu 
F*  9 


130  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

creased  by  the  probable  union  of  the  bayonet  of  the 
British  soldier,  with  the  tomahawk  of  the  savage. 

Colonel  Henderson  having  arrived  at  the  fort, 
which  seems  now  to  have  had  conferred  upon  it  the 
title  of  Boonesborough,  he  determined  to  organize  hia 
government.  The  proprietors  of  the  Transylvania 
Company  knew  that  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  be 
in  earnest,  for  as  intelligent  men,  they  must  have 
known  the  questionable  character  of  their  proceed- 
ings. He  opened  a  Land  Office  and  selected  its  offi- 
cers. In  a  short  period  over  an  half  million  of  acres 
had  been  entered  in  this  extensive  office.  In  a  colo- 
ny so  wide  spread,  thousands  of  acres  was  not  of  great 
consideration.  The  titles  of  the  leases  were  in  the 
name  of  "  The  proprietors  of  the  Colony  of  Transyl- 
vania, in  America."  The  reservation  of  a  perpetual 
rent,  if  this  singular  domain  had  been  preserved,  would 
have  soon  led  to  the  same  disastrous  scenes  which 
have  signalized  the  leasehold  estates  of  the  country. 
While  the  settlements  are  sparse,  to  secure  the  pow- 
erful aid  of  the  proprietors,  the  agreement  to  pay  the 
rent  is  readily  made,  but  when  the  tenant  leels  him- 
Belf  fully  competent  in  all  respects  to  manage  hia 
own  property,  the  quit-rent  becomes  an  intoleiable 
burthen. 

Those  who  entered  land  in  the  office  at  Boonesbor- 
ough believed  the  title  secure.  They  desired  a  papei 
titjf    -it  had  the  appearance  of  security;  and  while 


EOOJSfE    A    LECrlSLATOE.  13- 

their  pro])erty  was  situate  where  the  Indian  tvoulc 
have  hiuglied  at  the  ''  deed "  or  "  article,"  the  olr 
habits  of  the  Eastern  States  were  yet  upon  them 
and  this  office  found  abundant  occupation. 

Tiiere  were  now  four  settlements  from  which,  for 
che  organization  above  mentioned,  delegates  were 
Bummoned  —  Boonesborough,  Harrodsburgh,  (settled 
in  the  summer  of  1774,  by  the  erection  of  a  log  cabin 
by  James  Harrod,)  the  Boiling  Spring  settlement,  and 
that  of  St.  Asaph's  —  these  having  sprung  up  in  the 
wilderness  wherever  courageous  men  believed  them- 
eelves  strong  enough  to  make  a  stand  to  resist  the  en- 
emy. These  gatherings  of  the  pioneers  responded  to 
the  call  made  upon  them  to  form  a  State,  and  this  ex- 
traordinary Legislature  met  on  the  twenty-third  day 
of  May,  1775  ;  the  log-built  fort  which  Boone  erected 
being  at  once  the  fortress,  the  city,  the  capitol.  Ke- 
ver  had  legislature  so  few  constituents  to  so  much 
territory. 

Colonel  Henderson  managed  his  territory  in  a  very 
digiiified  manner.  He  did  not  take  his  place  among 
the  delegates,  but  appeared  in  the  character  of  presi- 
dent or  sovereign  of  the  country.  Here  our  Hunter 
and  Pioneer  appears  in  a  civil  dignity,  as  he  heads 
the  list  of  delegates  from  Boonesborough.  His  faithful 
brother,  Squire,  now  reappears  in  the  narrative,  by 
his  side,  as  an  associate  with  him,  as  does  liis  friend.^ 
Callaway.     Indeed,  if  this  procedure  had  been  in  om 


132  LIFE   OF   DANIEL    BOOlSrE. 

day,  it  would  have  looked  exceedingly  like  a  '  packet 
delegation."  The  gentlemanly  John  Floyd  was  of 
the  representation  from  St.  Asaph's,  and  must  have 
been  of  inestimable  service  to  their  councils,  since 
Governor  Morehead  describes  him  as  alternately  a 
surveyor,  a  legislator,  and  a  soldier ;  an  ornament 
and  a  benefactor  of  the  settlements ;  of  excellent  in- 
formation ;  an  intellectual  man,  and  of  undauntec 
courage  ;  his  person  singularly  attractive ;  his  com- 
plexion unusually  dark  ;  his  eyes  and  hair  deep  black 
and  his  tall,  spare  figure  dignified  by  the  accomplish- 
ments of  a  Virginian  gentleman. 

The  Assembly  opened  with  all  decorum,  with  an 
act  which  is  of  lustre  to  the  principle  and  character  of 
those  men  of  wild  and  sufi'eriug  days.  Among  their 
number  was  a  clergyman,  the  Rev.  John  Lythe,  by 
whom  divine  service  was  performed  ;  thus  heralding, 
with  the  recognition  of  Heaven,  the  first  Legislative 
Council  of  Kentucky.  They  had  not  then  shaken  off 
the  idea  of  their  Colonial  dependence,  as  President 
Henderson  addresses  them  as  convened  in  the  fif- 
teenth year  of  the'  reign  of  His  Majesty,  King  of 
Great  Britain. 

The  address  of  Mr.  Henderson  is  a  remarkable  one. 
He  tells  them  that,  although  only  representing  one 
hundred  and  fifty  persons,  they  are  placing  tlic  first 
corner  stone  of  an  edifice,  the  height  and  magnifi- 
cence of  whose  supers'^ructure  can  only  become  great 


COL.  Henderson's  speech.  ISh 

and  gL^rions  in  proportion  fo  tlie  excollcr.ce  cf  iff 
foundation.  He  trusts  their  sentiments  will  be  wor 
tliy  the  grandeur  of  the  subject. 

Nor  ought  it  to  he  omitted,  as  a  significant  fea 
ture  in  his  speech,  that  he  (and  this  was  in  1775)  dis- 
tinctly considers  the  only  legitimate  source  of  all  po 
litical  power  to  be  the  people.  Tame  platitudes  as 
are  all  such  declarations  now,  in  that  day  these  opin- 
ions were  enlightened  beyond  the  ordinary  mind,  and 
were  advanced  at  cost  and  hazard.  He  alludes  to 
their  remote  frontier,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  dif- 
ficulties, and  subject  to  one  common  danger,  and  if 
Jeremy  Bentham  had  been  in  existence  of  manhood, 
he  would  have  sent  his  compliments  to  the  President 
of  Transylvania,  for  such  a  sentence  as  this  :  "  If  an} 
doubt  reinain  among  you,  with  respect  to  the  force 
and  efficiency  of  whatever  laws  you  now  or  hereafter 
make,  be  pleased  to  consider  that  all  power  is  origi- 
nally in  the  people  :  7}ia7ce  it  their  interest^  therefore^ 
hy  imjMvtial  and  'beneficent  laios,  and  you  may  he  sure 
yf  their  inclination  to  see  them  enfor^ced^ 

It  seems  that  Lord  Dun  more  was  greatly  scandal- 
ized by  the  bvjld  movement  of  the  Transylvania  pro- 
priijtors,  whom,  in  a  proclamation,  he  had  desig- 
nat  dd  as  ''  one  Eichard  Henderson  and  otlicr  disor- 
der y  persons,  his  associates."  Within  the  shelter  of 
the  walls  of  the  fort,  the  president  does  not  spare  the 
nolle  governor,  but  fires  into  liim  an  attack,  whidi, 


134  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

if  TiOrd  Dnnmore  had  not  lind,  ahont  those  days,  just 
as  much  else  of  occupation  as  the  exj^iring  and  trenib- 
lirg  days  of  royal  rule  could  entertain,  might  liav^e 
been  the  occasion  of  a  compulsory  visit  by  Hender- 
son to  the  seat  of  authority  in  Virginia.  He  suggests 
that  the  "  moral  character  of  his  settlers  would  de- 
rive little  advantage  "  by  being  placed  in  competition 
with  that  of  the  representative  of  the  crown. 

Evidently,  the  proprietors  relied  on  their  seclusion 
and  distance,  else  tlieir  convention  of  a  Legislature 
against  the  will  of  the  governor,  would  have  run 
uncomfortably  near  tlie  serious  offence  of  higli  treason. 

He  acted  upon  the  conviction  that  good  English 
was  utterly  unintelligible  to  the  Indians,  else  ho 
would  not  have  proclaimed  the  fact  —  and  a  sure  fact 
it  was  —  that  the  ignorance  of  the  Indians  of  the 
weakness  and  want  of  order  of  the  Colony,  liad  pre- 
7ented  their  attack.  As  a  cunning  topic,  and  one  at 
the  mention  of  which,  he  knew  there  would  be  a 
"  profound  sensation,"  among  the  bold  and  roving 
audience  before  him,  he  speaks  of  "the  wanton  de- 
struction of  our  game,  tlie  only  support  of  life  among 
many  of  us,  and  for  want  of  which  the  country  would 
be  abandoned  ere  to-morrow,  and  scarcelj^  a  proba- 
Dility  remain  of  its  ever  becoming^  the  habitation  of 
any  Christian  peoj)le." 

The  answer  of  the  delegates,  which  was  made  in  al 
"orm,  has,  as  its  most  important  feature,  the  claim  foi 


PROCEEDINGS    OF   THE    LEGISLATURE.  135 

that  Assemhly,  as  an  ahsolnte  right,  to  frame  rules  foi 
the  government  of  their  little  society,  without  giving 
umbrage  to  Great  Britain  or  any  of  the  Colonies. 

The  records  of  this  extraordinary  House,  indicate 
that  they  who  projected  the  Transylvania  Colony^ 
were  men  of  mind.  From  the  beginning,  while  act- 
ing with  great  boldness,  they  had  also  originated  and 
matured  their  plans  with  eminent  sagacity.  It  is  very 
curious  to  note  that  this  handful  of  men,  almost  with- 
out constituents,  and  all  gathered  just  out  of  hearing 
of  the  war-whoop,  and  all  within  one  log  edifice,  fol- 
lowed with  due  care  all  parliamentary  forms.  One 
of  their  earliest  orders  was  to  direct  their  sergeant-at- 
arms  to  bring  up  before  them  an  outsider,  a  Mr.  John 
Guess,  for  an  insult  oifered  Col.  Callaway.  It  indi- 
cates the  subordination  and  discipline,  that  in  this 
way  this  result  was  noticed.  It  would  have  been  suf- 
ficient punishment  to  have  left  the  oflfender  one  night 
outside  the  garrison  walls. 

Our  great  Hunter  was  not  a  mere  spectator  of  the 
proceedings  of  this  Legislature.  It  would  have  been 
most  excusable  had  he  been,  and  that  from  utter 
amazement,  for  it  was  but  a  few  months  —  scarcely 
years  —  since  he  had  been  the  only  white  man  in  all 
that  country,  far  and  wide,  with  not  the  first  atom  of 
human  government — its  lore,  its  law,  its  rules — about 
him  ;  and  here  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  formal  as- 
•emblage.     But  he  made  his  presence  ki^own,  and, 


136  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

true  to  the  practical,  earnest  liaLit  of  liis  life,  doing 
that  which  he  could  do  best,  on  the  very  first  day  the 
entry  is  this  : 

"  On  motion  of  Mr.  Daniel  Boone,  leave  was  given  t« 
bring  in  a  bill  for  preserving  game,  and  a  committee  ^\as 
appointed  for  that  purpose,  of  which  Mr.  Daniel  Boone  wa« 
chairman." 

His  next  bill  was  one  for  improving  the  breed  uf 
horses,  and  both  these  bills  passed,  were  signed  by 
tlie  proprietors,  and  became  laws. 

Nor  is  it  to  be  passed  over,  before  leaving  this  snb- 
iect,  that  this  infant  colony  honored  itself  by  'ntro- 
ducing  a  bill  to  prevent  profane  swearing  and  Sab- 
bath breaking  ;  the  desecration  of  the  Creator's  i.ame, 
Bhocking  the  moral  sense,  even  among  these  soKtndes. 

The  session  was  three  da^^s.  Col.  Henderson  kept 
a  diary  of  the  events  that  signalized  it ;  and  it  ^'s  of 
interest  to  read  the  description  he  gives  of  the  place 
where  this  Legislature  hold  its  deliberation.  Never 
in  the  history  of  mankind,  was  there  a  more  fitting 
arena  for  a  council  of  forest  men — bold  hunters  — 
pioneers  —  identified  with  the  occupancy  and  c(m- 
quest  of  the  woods. 

They  ended,  as  they  had  begun,  by  tlie  celebiatiDn 
of  divine  service.  The  remaining  history  of  tlie  Uvit- 
tlement  will  follow  in  due  course.  The  moral  eUcct 
of  such  a  convocation  could  not  but  have  been  mt/sl 
important.     These  men  were  known  to  be  the  ^)UI»d 


GIRLS    CAPTURED   BY    INDIANS  13*5 

ers  of  tlie  pcttlements,  of  all  others  the  l)ol(lest  and  tl-e 
bravest.  That  it  should  have  been  among  the  first 
acts  of  their  organization,  to  establish  certain  just 
principles  of  action  —  equitable  and  honest  regulations 
—  was  a  strange  event  in  history  ;  and  brief  as  was 
the  existence  of  the  Colony  or  State  of  Transylvania, 
it  left  its  mark,  strong  and  deep,  in  the  moulding  of 
the  future. 

As  the  year  1776  opened — a  year,  which,  to  all 
parts  of  America,  seaboard  and  frontier,  was  to  be 
important  and  memorable  —  other  emigrants  came  in, 
and  among  the  most  welcome  was  the  family  of  Col. 
Callaway.  His  wife  and  two  daughters  came  to  the 
fort,  while  Col.  Benjamin  Logan  brought  his  wife  and 
family  to  Logan's  Fort. 

That  it  was  not  an  imaginary  peril  which  surround- 
ed the  settlers,  was  soon  painfully  proved,  and  by  an 
incident  which,  unquestionably,  was  longer  remem- 
bered by  every  female  in  the  new  country,  than  any 
other.  It  was  the  capture,  by  the  Lidians,  of  the  two 
daughters  of  Col.  Callaway — Misses  Betsey  and  Fran- 
ces—  and  Jemima,  one  of  the  daughters  of  Boone. 
His  own  narrative  of  this  interesting  event,  is  exceed- 
ingly meager  ;  it  may  be  because  he  was  one  of  the 
principal  actors  in  it.  Fortunately,  John  Floyd,  (one 
of  the  surveying  party  that  Lord  Dunmore  had  sent 
Boone  to  rescue,)  has  given  an  animated  description 
This,  and  tlic  additions  to  it,  gathered  by  the  intelli 


138  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

gent  historian,  Pec'k,  from  one  of  the  captured  parties^ 
will  always  remain  a  vivid  chapter  in  the  true  stories 
of  the  border. 

"  On  the  fourteenth  of  July,  1776,  Betsey  Callaway,  hex 
sister  Frances,  and  Jemima  Boone,  a  daughter  of  Captain 
Boone,  the  two  last  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  carelessly 
crossed  the  river  opposite  to  Boonesborough,  in  a  canoe,  at 
a  late  hour  in  the  afternoon.  The  trees  and  shrubs  on  the 
opposite  bank  were  thick,  and  came  down  to  the  water's  edge. 
The  girls,  unconscious  of  danger,  were  playing  and  splashing 
the  water  with  the  paddles,  until  the  canoe,  floating  with  the 
current,  drifted  near  the  shore.  Five  stout  Indians  lay  there 
concealed,  one  of  whom,  noiseless  and  stealthy  as  the  serpent, 
crawled  down  the  bank  until  he  reached  the  rope  that  hung 
from  the  bow,  turned  its  course  up  the  stream,  and  in  a  di- 
rection to  be  hidden  from  the  view  of  the  fort.  The  loud 
shrieks  of  the  captured  girls  were  heard,  but  too  late  for 
their  rescue.  The  canoe,  their  only  means  of  crossing,  was 
on  the  opposite  shore,  and  none  dared  to  risk  the  chance  of 
swimming  the  river,  under  the  impression  that  a  large  body 
of  savages  was  concealed  in  the  woods .  Boone  and  Calla- 
way were  both  absent,  and  night  set  in  before  their  return, 
and  arrangements  could  be  made  for  pursuit.  Next  morn 
ing,  by  daylight,  we  were  on  the  track,  but  ^ound  they  had 
totally  prevented  our  following  them,  by  wafkmg  some  dis- 
tance apart  through  the  thickest  canes  they  could  find.  We 
observed  their  course,  and  on  which  side  we  had  left  their 
sign,  and  traveled  upwards  of  thirty  miles.  We  then  ima- 
gined that  they  would  be  less  cautious  in  traveling,  and  mado 
a  turn  in  order  to  cross  their  trace,  and  had  gone  but  a  few 
miles  before  we  found  their  tracks  in  a  buffalo  path ;  pup- 
sued    and    overtook    th?ra,   on    going    about    ten    mile^ 


THE    CAPTR^ES    RESCUED.  131} 

|ust  as  they  were  kinrllino:  n  fire  to  eook.  Our  study 
nad  been  more  to  get  the  prisoners,  wilhout  giving  the  In 
dians  time  to  murder  them  after  they  discovered  U'^,  than  to 
kill  them.  We  discovered  each  other  nearly  dt  the  same 
time.  Four  of  us  fired,  and  all  rushed  on  them,-  which  pre. 
vented  them  from  carrying  away  anything  except  one  shot 
gun,  without  ammunition.  Mr.  Boone  and  myself  had  a 
pretty  fair  shoot,  just  as  they  began  to  move  off.  I  am  well 
convinced  I  shot  one  through,  and  the  one  he  shot  dropped 
his  gun  ;  mine  had  none.  The  place  was  very  thick  with 
canes,  and  being  so  much  elated  on  recovering  the  three  little 
broken-hearted  girls,  prevented  our  making  further  search. 
We  sent  them  off  without  their  moccasins,  and  not  one  of 
them  with  so  much  as  a  knife  or  a  tomahawk." 

In  introducing  this  extract,  it  was  said  that  it  will 
alwavs  remain  amonor  the  most  interestino^  of  the  true 
narratives  of  the  border  and  the  frontier ;  for  it  can- 
not be  concealed  that  the  liistorian  finds  liis  cliief  dis- 
couragement in  the  record  of  the  life  and  story  of  the 
bold  and  the  brave,  that  Fiction  has  been  in  the  field, 
and  so  occupied  the  place  that  belongs  to  Truth,  that 
after  the  lapse  of  years,  it  is  the  most  difficult  duty  to 
find  what  actually  was  done,  rather  than  what  was 
imagined.  Especially  vexatious  is  it  to  observe,  that 
Qf  this  most  eventful  hour  in  the  life  of  Boone,  when 
those  dearest  to  him  were  taken  from  his  side,  and  by 
his  brave  and  sagacious  pursuit  so  gallantly  rescued, 
his  amanuensis,  Filson,  wlio  had  the  precious  advan- 
tage of  being  where  the  very  best  opportunity  pre 
rented  ftself  for  knowing  all  the  details  from  Boone 


140  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

himself,  should  allow  the  affair  to  be  so  summarily 
disposed  of  in  "  these  few  lines:  "  "  On  the  fourteenth 
day  of  July,  1776,  two  of  Col.  Calaway's  daughters 
and  one  of  mine,  were  taken  prisoners  near  the  fort 
T  immediately  pursued  the  Indians,  with  only  eight 
men,  and  on  the  sixteenth,  overtook  them,  killed  two 
of  the  party,  and  recovered  the  girls."  Such  is  the 
narrative  which  Boone  gives  of  an  affair,  which,  in 
the  memoir  of  many  another  man,  would  have  been 
the  very  jewel  of  his  life  ;  and  yet  there  is  a  noble- 
ness in  the  quiet  language.  Boone  saw  only  his  duty 
in  the  scene,  and  in  that  word — duty  —  he  placed  his 
energies. 

This-fourteenth  of  July  was  a  busy  day  for  the  new 
settlements.  Not  content  with  the  capture  of  the 
children,  the  Indians  divided  themselves  into  differ- 
ent parties,  and  attacked  several  other  forts,  ravaging 
and  destroying  the  labor  of  the  settler,  and  evincing, 
in  their  own  cruel  and  characteristic  manner,  their 
determination  to  destroy  the  new  empire  of  the  white 
man,  since  it  could  only  exist  on  the  ruin  of  their 
5wn  ;    a  sad  truth  which  they  soon  began  to  realize. 

At  this  juncture  the  Indians  seem  to  have  made  an 
organized  series  of  attacks  —  skilful,  w^atchful  and 
cunning.  The  open  field  fight  was  never  to  the  taste 
of  the  savage.  He  desired  such  a  fight  as  could  bo 
had  by  a  cover — from  an  ambusli  —  out  of  a  cane- 
brake  —  wherever  the  knowledge  of  the  life  passed 


INDIAN    TACTICS.  14^ 

araoiig  the  woods  might  make  hin:  mc  re  than  equa. 
to  the  white  man.  In  his  entire  history,  this  has  been 
the  policy  of  the  Indian.  It  is  manifested  at  tliis  day, 
in  the  expiring  struggles  of  the  western  savage  to  re- 
tain some  grasp  of  the  great  domain,  once  all  his  own, 
In  the  long  and  destructive  war  v/ith  the  Seminoles 
in  Florida,  the  terrible  assaults  which  left  their  sad 
record  in  the  death  of  so  many  of  the  very  bravest 
and  best  of  the  army,  were  of  this  character.  The 
Indian  was  patient  and  enduring  beyond  the  white ; 
and  the  hours  which  the  soldier  gave  to  sleep,  the 
savage  employed  in  stratagem.  He  would  use  every 
art,  every  device  and  disguise,  which  his  limited  ob- 
servation suggested.  He  would  linger  and  wait  for 
the  moment  when  the  blow  could  be  struck  with  most 
certainty,  and  it  made  the  revenge  most  gratifying  if 
the  murderous  fight  could  take  the  settler  by  sur- 
prise. '  They  knew  so  much  of  the  habits  and  appear- 
ance of  the  wild  beasts,  as  to  be  able  to  imitate  them, 
and  used  their  knowledge  in  making  such  imitation  a 
part  of  their  system  of  warfare.  But  in  all  this,  they 
had  not  the  concentrated  purpose  of  the  white  man. 
To  them,  the  plot  which  did  not  at  the  instant  suc- 
ceed, became  valueless ;  hence,  if  the  yell  and  the 
^hout,  the  n:iidnight  blow,  and  the  rush  from  the  am- 
\)\i<^]i,  was  unsuccessful,  their  disappointment  w;is  ex- 
cessive; and  it  does  not  seem  that  they  had,  as  the 
eettlers  had,  plans  in  preparation  to  take  the  place  of 


ii2  I.IFE    OF    DANIEL    IJUU:N  E. 

those  suddenly  frustrated.  The  poor  Indian  used  ths 
tactics  which  his  limited  knowledge  suggested  ;  but, 
horrible  as  they  were  in  appearance,  it  was  extraordi 
nary  circumstances  which  ever  made  them  trium- 
phant over  the  whites. 

Boone  narrates  the  sufferings  of  the  settlers  with 
more  detail  and  more  feeling  than  is  used  in  the  allu- 
sion which  he  gives  to  the  capture  of  his  daughter. 
It  touched  him  keenly  that  the  Indian  seemed  to  neg- 
lect no  hour  which,  either  by  night  or  day,  promised 
to  afford  some  Opportunity  for  assault.  He  says  it 
was  extremely  distressing.  The  Indians  shot  down 
the  cattle,  and  attempted  to  kill  the  innocent  hus- 
bandmen, while  engaged  in  cultivating  the  soil  foi 
his  family's  support.  Evidently,  the  Indian  had 
grown  enraged  in  witnessing  the  calm  and  determined 
manner  irf  which,  under  the  guidance  and  leadership 
of  Boone,  the  signs  of  a  permanent  establishment  of 
the  settlements  were  manifesting  themselves. 

This  was  one  of  those  periods  in  the  history  of  Ken- 
tucky when  it  trembled  in  the  balance,  whether  all 
that  had  been  gained  in  the  attempt  to  civilize  and 
subdue  the  wilderness  should  be  maintained  or  sur- 
rendered. Boone  seems  to  have  been  equal  to  the 
emergency.  He  had  known  the  savage  so  thoroughly 
that  they  had  no  device  but  that  his  memory  suggest- 
ed a  parallel  in  his  experiences,  and  he  was  prepared 
to  meet  it.    The  poor  settlei's,  scattered  about,  looked 


ALAKM    OF    TUE   SET'lLKKS.  143 

to  him  as  their  great  leader,  and  he  maintained  his 
position.  It  seems  to  have  been  of  tlie  characteris- 
tics of  his  remarkable  career,  that  when  the  perils 
and  the  responsibilities  of  tlie  scene  concentrated,  and 
became  collected  upon  one,  he  was  there  to  sustain 
them,  and  when  the  most  dangerous  hour  was  over, 
and  the  excitement  of  greater  numbers  was  experi- 
enced, he  stepped  aside  from  the  place  of  power,  and 
Bought  to  conceal  himself  rather  than  to  obtrude 
Kow,  the  settlements  all  around  him  were  in  trouble 
and  his  own  narrative  indicates  how  deeply  he  gave 
bis  sympathies.  He  realized  that  if  the  settlers  were 
compelled  to  retreat  all  might  be  lost,  and  the  labor 
of  years  thrown  aside. 

There  were  those  in  the  forts,  and  especially  at 
Boonsborough,  who  had  made  all  their  calculations 
for  peaceful  experiences.  They  were  sensible  of  the 
value  of  the  land,  but  were  not  willing  to  live  in  a 
succession  of  alarms.  The  whole  country  was  pass- 
ing into  that  condition  of  war  and  rumors  of  war, 
which  the  struggle  with  Great  Britain  produced.  The 
timid"  and  the  irresolute  left  the  settlements  and  re 
treated  to  the  seaboard.  The  Indian  soon  became 
awaie  that  he  had,  in  the  royalist,  a  new  ally^  and  the 
new  hope  sprung  in  his  heart,  of  conquering,  by  the 
aid  of  the  British,  the  colonists,  or  at  least  of  drivino' 
them  back  again  beyond  the  mountain  passes,  which 
had  been  crossed  at  such  hazard  and  with  such  br^ 


144  Ln'E    OF   DANIEL    BOONE, 

very.  The  alarm  was  on  every  midnight  hour,  llie 
[ndian  essayed  to  surprise  the  solitary  sentinel,  or  to 
seize  the  wanderer  from  the  fort.  It  was  a  frequent 
accompaniment  of  the  night,  that  the  yell  of  an  at 
tack  designed  to  be  murderous,  was  heard  at  the  very 
gates.  These  were  no  times  for  those  who  had  come 
into  the  new  colony  only  to  make  merchandize  of  its 
lands.  It  was  not  for  such  traffic  with  horrors  tliat 
they  had  prepared  themselves,  and  they  found  it  easy 
to  persuade  themselves  that  it  was  wisest  to  let  the 
storm  pass  over,  before  they  finished  their  plans.  They 
left,  and  in  such  nnmbers  as  materially  to  embarrass 
the  colony.  Col.  Henderson  found  it  easier  to  dis- 
pose of  his  lands  in  Transylvania  than  to  people  them 
with  men  prepared  for  the  battle,  as  well  as  for  the 
council.  They  left,  ready  to  come  back  when  the 
bold  and  brave  men  wlio  remained,  should  have  pro- 
claimed that  the  foe  had  been  extirpated.  Boone  saw 
his  duty  in  remaining,  to  be,  as  he  was,  the  calm  and 
brave  leader,  who,  with  a  sagacity  and  courage  that 
had  no  ebb  or  flow,  kej^t  quietly  on,  wliether  the  In- 
dian dissembled  in  false  peace,  or  raged  in  anger. 


CHAPTEE    VIII 

BIS     REVOLUTIONARY  WAR HARASSED    BY    TEJE    INDIANS  —  GEN.  CLARKK'i 

JOURNAL MILITARY  FORCE    OF  THE  SETTLEMENTS HEN;^ERSOn's    LAND 

TITLES 'THE    COMPROMISE — -THE    SETTLERS*  PETITION  TO  BE    TAKEN  UN- 
DER THE  PROTECTION  OF  VIRGINIA THE  INDIANS  ATTACK  BOONESBOROUGB 

FORT  AND  ARE  REPULSED THE  ATTACK  RENEWED  BY  GREATER  NUMBERS 

THE    WHITES    AGAIN     SUCCESSFUL REINFORCEMENTS  ARRIVE NEW9 

ARRIVES  OF  Washington's  victory  over  howe. 

Evidently,  the  commencement  of  hostilities  with 
Great  Britain  entered  deeply  in  its  effect  on  the  con- 
dition of  the  colony.  When  the  Indian  was  alone, 
and  had  against  him  all  the  population,  he  was  bad 
enough,  and  his  cunning  and  his  cruelty  made  the 
possession  of  a  frontier  farm,  a  scene  of  constant 
alarm  ;  but  when  that  Indian  came  in  the  increased 
force  of  an  ally  of  a  powerful  government,  willing  to 
supply  him  with  the  arms  and  munitions  of  war,  af 
whose  leaders  seemed  to  have  calculated  on  the  attacK 
cf  the  Indian  as  a  most  summary  way  of  breaking  up 
the  labor  of  the  pioneer  —  when  the  Indian  was  seen 
thus  allied,  the  settler  had  good  reason  to  tremble 
The  fort  at  Boonesborough  was  the  object  of  distinct 
and  determined  haried.  It  was  the  place  where  the 
strength  of  the  settler  concentrated,  and  in  which  and 
G  10 


116  LIFE    Of    DANIEL    BOONE. 

from  which  it  couki  be  made  available.  All  thes^ 
circumstances  tended  to  thin  out  the  inhabitants  of 
the  fort,  but  those  that  staid  were  of  the  ciass  of  men 
whose  names  are  always  written  in  their  country's 
sufferings  and  successes. 

That  winter  of  1776-77  was  a  gloomy  one.  As  the 
solitary  messenger  found  his  way  from  the  seaboard, 
he  brought  the  news  of  a  deeper  and  deeper  gloom 
of  war  with  a  great  nation ;  of  commerce  destroyed 
and  trade  relinquished ;  of  old  communities  needing 
all  tlieir  resources  for  self-support  and  self-protection  ; 
and  of  the  certainty  that  but  little  of  assistance  could 
be  spared  to  the  frontier.  It  told  of  the  determina- 
tion expressed  in  arming  and  scheming ;  in  the  trans- 
port of  soldiery  ;  in  fierce  threatening ;  in  parliament- 
ary denunciation  and  royal  resolves  to  make  the  war  a 
short  one,  by  a  vigorous  campaign.  If  these  were  sad 
tidings  to  the  populated  colonies  of  the  Atlantic,  what 
alarm  was  there  in  all  this,  for  the  scattered  forts  of 
the  wilderness  !  It  was  just  such  an  hour  as  is  ever 
the  frame  which  receives  the  Man,  and  Boone  filled 
it  —  filled  it  with  an  ability  which  it  is  not  yet  too  late 
to  eulogize. 

In  the  fort  and  outside  the  fort,  the  Indian  made 
Boone  and  the  colonists  aware  of  their  unrelenting 
enmity.  McClung  says,  they  were  incessantly  lia- 
rassed  by  flying  parties  of  Indians.  While  at  work 
in  the  fields,  they  were  waylaid,  and  wldle  huntings 


JIAKASSED    liY    LNDIAJNS.  147 

tkot  at ;  and  the  welcome  to  the  first  of  tiie  garrison 
who  appeared  in  the  morning,  was  a  shot  from  some 
Indian  who  had,  for  the  purpose,  watched  during 
all  the  night ! 

If  any  one  doubts  that  this,  all  over  the  colonies, 
was  a  period  of  peril,  let  them  read  the  testimony  of 
Gen.  Washington  —  February  10,  1776  —  written  to 
Joseph  Reed,  and  which  portrays  the  real  condition 
of  the  country : 

"I  know  the  unhappy  predicament  in  which  I  stand.  1 
know  that  much  is  expected  of  me ;  I  know  that,  without 
men,  without  arms,  without  amunition,  without  anything  fit 
for  the  accommodation  of  a  soldier,  little  is  to  be  done,  and, 
what  is  mortifying,  I  know  that  I  cannot  stand  justified  to 
the  world  without  exposing  my  own  weakness,  and  injuring 
the  cause  by  declaring  my  wants,  which  I  am  determined 
not  to  do,  farther  than  unavoidable  necessity  brings  every 
man  acquainted  with  them.  My  situation  is  so  irksome  to 
me  at  times,  that  if  I  did  not  consult  the  public  ijood,  more 
than  my  own  tranquillity,  I  should  long  eid  nis,  have  put 
everythmg  on  the  cast  of  a  die.  So  far  from  my  having  an 
army  of  twenty  thousand  men,  well  armed,  I  have  been  here 
with  less  than  half  that  number,  including  sick,  fiirloughed, 
and  on  command,  and  those  neither  armed  nor  clothed  as 
they  should  be.  Jn  short,  my  situation  has  been  such,  that 
I  have  been  obliged  to  use  art  to  conceal  it  from  my  own 
officers." 

llie  Colonies  had  too  much  to  do  in  looking  afte 
their  own  safety,  to  g'^e  much  attention  to  the  fron 


148  LIFE    OP'    DAJSriEL    JBUONE. 

tier ;  and  tlioiigli  a  reinforcement  for  the  fort,  from 
Virginia,  had  been  expected,  it  did  not  arrive.  Thia 
added  to  the  causes  which  dishearted  so  many.  Tlie 
Indian  found  out  that  the  numbers  were  lessening, 
and  it  renewed  the  vigor  of  his  attack.  Where- 
ever  the  settler  exposed  himself,  he  was  attacked , 
and  he  was  a  bold  man  who  ventured  out  of  the  pro- 
tection of  the  guns  of  the  fort. 

The  interesting,  though  too  brief,  diary  of  George 
Rogers  Clarke,  in  its  memoranda  of  the  chief  occur- 
rences of  tli'3  winter,  illustrates  this  scene  of  constant 
alarms.  It  is  in  extraordinary  contrast  to  what  would 
now  be  the  record  of  the  rich  land  where  quiet  citi- 
zens follow  in  their  honest  occupations  tlie  arts  of 
peace.  Though  a  few  lines  suffice  to  tell  the  story, 
there  is  moaning  in  each  line.  The  record  is  of  the 
death  of  tho  pioneers — of  the  men  who  sought  to  sub- 
due the  wilderness,  and  who,  like  Boone,  left  the  or- 
dinary routine  of  existence  to  write  their  names  in  bold 
service  for  their  country. 

Gen.  Clarke  thus  notes  the  incidents  of  the  times  : 

"  Dec.  25^/i.  Ten  men,  going  to  the  Ohio  for  powder, 
met  on  the  waters  of  the  Licking  Creek  by  Indians,  and  de- 
feated. John  G.  Jones,  William  Graden,  and  Josiah  Dixon 
were  killed. 

''Dec.  29 A  A  large  party  of  Indians  atlacko.l  McClel- 
land's  Fort,  p.vI  wounded  John  IMcClellaiid,  Charles  White, 
Robert  Todd,  and  Edward  Worthington  -  -  the  two  first 
mortally. 


14S 

**  Dec,  oOth.    Charles  Whito  dicrl  of  his  Avoimd. 

^^  Jan.  (Sth,  1  rn.    John.  McClelland  died  of  'lit  /vcaud. 

^*  March  5th.  Thomas  Shores  and  William  pAiy  killed  at 
Ihe  Shawanese  spring.  The  Indians  attempted  to  out  off 
from  the  fort  a  small  party  of  our  men  ;  a  skirmish  ensued  ; 
we  had  four  men  wounded,  and  some  cattle  killed.  A  small 
party  oMndians  attacked,  killed,  and  scalped  Hugh  Wilson. 
A  large  party  of  Indians  attacked  the  straggleri  about  the 
fort." 

Sncli  is  the  joirmal  of  the  occurrences  of  that  me- 
morable winter.  It  was  gloomy  and  sad  It  exhib- 
its, with  the  accuracy  of  a  recital  made  ut  the  very 
time,  how  fearful  was  that  pioneer  enterprise  at  that 
time.  In  the  midst  of  all  of  it,  Boone  renr.ained  firm. 
He  seems  to  have  been  the  man  on  whose  judgment 
they  all  relied.  Characterized  as  he  has  been,  by  a 
competent  historian,  as  having  "a  quich  perception 
of  expedients — much  prudence  and  caution  —  un- 
yielding perseverance,  and  determined  valor,  com- 
bined with  superio:.'  strength  and  activity  of  person  ' 
— he  was  the  true  leader  for  this  long-coatinued  and 
severe  trial.  He  kept  the  great  wheel  of  civilization 
from  rolling  back. 

At  this  time,  the  whole  military  force  of  the  col- 
ony was  about  one  hundred  men,  of  which  Boones« 
borough  had  twenty-two,  Harrodsburgh  sixty-five, 
and  Logan's  Fort  fifteen.  Tnree  hundr^jd  had  gone 
back,  alarmed  at  the  positive  peril  which  was  so  im- 
minent.    While  all  those  who  were  left  had  the  cou 


150  LIFE    OF    DAXTFL    r.OOXF. 

Btant  and  harassino"  rlnfy  of  a  day  and  night  gnard 
while  the  savage  kept  Iiis  fierce  watch  ;  while  al 
tliese  dangers  pressed  and  calamities  impended — the 
settlement  of  the  conntry  was  becoming  a  fixed  and 
a  permanent  thing.  The  Colony  of  Transylvania  was 
preparing  to  become,  by  another  name,  known  among 
the  commnnities  of  men. 

Col.  Henderson  fonnd  his  domain  a  sonrce  of  great 
tronble  and  vexation.  The  Proprietary  Government 
which  he  had  attempted  to  establish,  found  its  decay 
in  the  impression,  which  soon  became  general,  that 
Col.  Henderson  had  taken  too  much  npon  himself  in 
asserting  the  validity  of  his  title,  and  that  there  was 
danger  in  holding  land  whose  possession  had  no  bet- 
ter avonchment.  The  bold  independence  of  his  course 
made  him  an  object  of  jealous  supervision  by  Vir- 
ginia. This  convening  of  a  Legislature  by  a  Lord 
Proprietor,  was  a  step  which  it  was  needful  to  main- 
tain with  more  power  than  he  could  command. 

Those  who  were  brought  by  him  from  North  Caroli- 
na, believed  in  his  title — their  attachment  being  prob- 
ably somewhat  the  result  of  the  old  clanship  feeling 
which  the  Scotch  had  introduced  into  that  State.  Not 
60  with  the  Virginians,  who  believed  in  their  own  "An- 
cient Dominion,"  over  all  the  "  western  parts  of 
Fincastle  county  on  the  Kentucky  River,"  as  that  do- 
main was  designated.  There  were  others  (and  they 
nay  have  been  of  that  class  who  kept  clear  of  all 


Henderson's  land  title.  15i 

Janger)  who  contented  themselves  witli  seenringgood 
lands,  and  declining  to  perfect  a  title  till  the  masterj? 
was  settled. 

T\e  Eoyal  Charter,  as  Yirginiaread  it,  gave  to  her 
ad  the  land  to  which  the  designation  of  Kentucky 
had  been  given  ;  and  when  Col.  Henderson  purchased 
the  title  of  the  Indians,  he  usurped,  (so  Virginia 
claimed,)  the  preemption  or  right  of  purchase  which 
belonged  to  the  colony.  The  title  of  Henderson  was 
declared  null  and  void ;  but  Henderson  was  a  man  of 
power  and  influence,  as  has  been  shown,  and  he  had 
BO  much  persuasion  over  the  government,  that  a  spe- 
cies of  compromise  was  made,  by  wliich  liis  claim 
was  considered  good  as  against  the  Indians.  It  an- 
ticipates to  say  that  he  received  a  liberal  grant  of 
land  lying  on  the  Ohio,  below  the  mouth  of  Green 
River,  and  twelve  miles  square.  He  deserved  it ;  for 
to  him  does,  in  all  probability,  Kentucky  owe  the 
gratitude  belonging  to  him  who  brought  Daniel  Boono 
prominently  into  the  stirring  action  of  public  life. 

It  was  an  important  feature  in  the  series  of  troubles 
which  surrounded  Boone,  that  this  was  tlie  season  of 
the  great  and  growing  discontents  in  relation  to  these 
land  titles.  It  probably  stirred  the  blood  of  the  sol- 
dior  and  the  pioneer,  to  find  that  so  many  of  those 
who  came  into  the  wilderness,  did  so,  the  better  to 
pursue  some  cool  and  calculating  plot  against  the 
owners  of  the  soil.     The  land  speculators  never  wero 


152  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

of  that  class  of  men  to  whom  Boone  assimilated,  ana 
he  could  not  but  be  indignant  that  when  such  im- 
minent peril,  as  that  which  now  surrounded  them,  re- 
quired the  united  action  of  all,  Col.  Henderson,  who 
had  done  so  much  to  form  tlie  colony,  should  be  so 
traduced.  There  is  a  curious  document  in  existence. 
It  is  styled  "A  petition  of  the  inhabitants  and  some 
of  the  intended  settlers  of  that  part  of  North  Amer- 
ica, now  denominated  Transylvania,"  addressed  to 
the  Convention  of  Virginia.  It  so  forcibly  illustrates 
tlie  history  of  the  country,  that  a  copy  of  the  mate- 
rial part  of  it  is  given  : 

''  Whereas  some  of  your  petitioners  became  adventurers 
in  that  country,  from  the  advantageous  reports  of  their  friends 
who  first  explored  it,  and  others  since  allured  by  the  specious 
show  of  the  easy  terms  on  which  the  land  was  to  be  pur- 
chased from  those  who  style  themselves  proprietors,  have,  at 
a  great  expense  and  many  hardships,  settled  there,  under  the 
faith  of  holding  the  lands  by  an  indefeasible  title,  which  those 
gentlemen  assured  them  they  were  capable  of  making.  But 
your  petitioners  have  been  greatly  alarmed  at  the  late  con- 
duct of  those  gentlemen,  in  advancing  the  price  of  the  pur- 
chase money  from  twenty  shillings  to  fifty  shillings  sterling, 
per  hundred  acres,  and,  at  the  same  time,  have  increased  the 
fees  of  entry  and  surveying  to  a  most  exorbitant  rate  ;  and, 
by  the  short  period  prefixed  for  taking  up  the  lands,  even  on 
those  extravagant  terms,  they  plainly  evince  their  intentions 
of  rising  in  their  demands  as  the  settlers  increase,  or,  their 
insatiable  avarice  shall  dictate.  And  your  petitioners  have 
been  more  justly  alarmed  at  such  unaccountable  and  arbitra 


155 

TV  proccedirigs,  ns  thoy  have  latoly  learnerl.  from,  a  copy  o\ 
the  deed  made  by  the  Six  Natit)ns  with  Sir  Villiam  John- 
son, and  the  commissioners  from  this  colony,  at  Fort  Stan- 
wix,  in  the  year  1768,  that  the  said  lands  were  included  ic 
the  cession  or  grant  of  all  that  tract  which  lies  jn  the  south 
side  of  the  rivers  Ohio,  beginning  at  the  moutti  of  Cherokee 
or  Hogohege  River,  and  extending  up  the  said  River  Ketta 
ning.  And,  as  in  preamble  of  the  said  deed,  the  said  coi> 
federate  hidians  declare  the  Cherokee  River  to  be  their  true 
boundary  with  the  southard  Indians. 

"  Your  petitioners  may,with  great  reason,  doubt  the  valid- 
ity of  the  purchase  that  those  proprietors  have  made  of  the 
Cherokees  —  the  only  title  they  set  up  to  the  lands  for  which 
they  demand  such  extravagant  sums  from  your  petitioners, 
without  any  other  assurance  for  holding  them,  than  their  own 
deed  and  warrantee ;  a  poor  security,  as  your  petitioners 
honestly  apprehend,  for  the  money  that,  among  other  new 
and  unreasonable  regulations,  these  proprietors  insist  should 
be  paid  down  on  the  delivery  of  the  deed.  And,  as  we  have 
the  greatest  reason  to  presume  that  his  majesty,  to  whom 
the  lands  were  deeded  by  the  Six  Nations,  for  a  valuable 
consideration,  will  vindicate  his  title,  and  think  himself  at 
liberty  to  grant  them  to  such  persons,  and  on  such  terms  as 
he  pleases,  your  petitioners  would,  in  consequence  thereof, 
be  turned  out  of  possession,  or  obliged  to  purchase  their 
lands  and  improvements  on  such  terms  as  the  new  grantee 
of  proprietor  might  think  fit  to  impose  ;  so  that  we  cannot 
help  regarding  the  demands  of  Mr.  Henderson  and  company 
as  highly  unjust  and  impolitic,  in  the  infant  sta  c  of  the  set. 
tlement,  as  well  as  greatly  injurious  to  your  petitioners,  whc 
would  cheerfully  have  paid  the  consideration  at  first  stipula- 
ted by  the  coTupany,  whenever  their  grant  had  been  confirmed 
by  the  crown,  or  otherwise  authenticated  by  the  supremi 
G* 


154  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

r.O!]i;islature.  And.  as  we  are  anxioii«  to  concnr,  in  every  r<v 
spect,  with  c»iir  brethren  of  the  United  Colonies,  for  our  jns 
rights  and  privileges,  as  far  as  our  infant  settlement  and  re 
mote  situation  will  admit  of, 

"  Wc  humbly  expect  and  implore  to  be  taken  under  the 
protection  of  the  honorable  Convention  of  the  Colony  of 
Virginia,  of  which  we  cannot  help  thinking  ourselves  still  a 
part,  and  request  your  kind  mterposition  in  our  behalf,  that 
we  may  not  suffer  under  the  rigorous  demands  and  Imposi- 
tion  of  the  gentlemen  styling  themselves  proprietors,  who, 
the  better  to  effect  their  oppressive  designs,  have  given  them 
the  color  of  a  law,  enacted  by  a  score  of  men,  artfully  picked 
from  the  few  adventurers  who  went  to  see  the  country  last 
summer,  overawed  by  the  presence  of  Mr.  Henderson." 

The  charge  against  the  memorable  Legislature  that 
convened  in  the  open  air,  and  so  wisely  and  with  such 
dignity,  essayed  the  duties  of  law-making,  should 
have  been  omitted.  There  are  about  eighty-eight 
signatures  to  the  memorial ;  but  it  is  gratifying  to 
know  that  not  one  of  those  who  were  delegates  from 
Boonesborough  to  the  Legislature  of  Transylvania, 
affixed  their  names  to  it.  The  declaration,  by  the 
Geiiieral  Assembly  of  Virginia,  against  the  title  of  the 
Transylvania  Company,  and  tHe  erection  of  the  county 
of  Kentucky,  settled  the  question,  and  Transylvania 
with  all  its  brief  annals,  vanished  into  history. 

On  the  fifteenth  of  April,  1777,  the  Lidians  made 
«n  attack  on  Boonesborough,  with  a  party  of  over  one 
hundred,  and  notwithstanding  all  this  great  force — • 
great  in  proportion  to  the  small  garrison  —  the  latter 


ATTACK   ON   BOONESROROUGn,  15£ 

ost  but  one  man.  So  fkitlifully  did  the  sava<^es  keep 
witliin  themselves  the  sad  record  of  their  own  losses 
wliicli  unquestionably  were  severe,  that  Boone  was 
not  able  to  tell  what  had  been  their  suffering.  In 
this  engagement,  as  in  many  others,  tlie  Indians  felt 
how  powerless  all  their  ferocity  was  against  tlie  civ- 
ilization of  the  whites.  The  Indian  might  have 
poured  his  fierce  warriors  into  the  fort,  stormino;  it, 
whatever  was  the  bravery  of  the  garrison,  if  the  sav- 
age had  known  the  uses  of  a  scaling-ladder.  But 
as  they  had  not  —  having  spent  all  their  force  on  one 
desperate  movement  —  tluis  repulsed,  they  fled,  leav- 
ing the  garrison  painfully  conscious  tliat  tlie  time 
might  come  when  bolder  and  better  discipline  might 
direct  the  forest  warrior  to  victory.  They  carried  off 
their  dead  —  a  practice,  Boone  says,  common  among 
them.  It  shows  the  inefficiency  of  their  judgment. 
It  was  done  to  prevent  their  loss  being  known,  while 
its  effect  was  so  to  embarrass  and  occupy  the  living, 
as  to  diminish  their  strength,  just  when  they  most 
needed  it. 

The  fight  of  the  fifteenth  of  April  being  over,  tlie 
garrison  rested,  but  knew  well  that  it  was  but  for  a 
brief  period,  and  that  a  renewed  attack  might  be  ex- 
pected. 

Nor  were  they  in  error.  On  the  fourth  of  July  — 
a  date  wljich,  for  one  year,  had  been  a  famous  one-— 
the   campaign  was   renewed  in  a  more   determined 


156  LIFE  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 

manner.  At  this  time,  the  Indians  had  reinforced 
their  numbers  —  a  thing  which  tlie  garrison  would 
have  been  only  too  glad  to  have  done,  but  which 
seemed  almost  impossible.  Two  hundred  savages 
were  in  the  fight,  at  this  time,  and  the  fort  was  sub 
jected,  for  forty-eight  hours,  to  their  murderous  at- 
tack. They  used  all  their  arts,  and  put  forth  all  their 
6tren2:th.  There  were  about  ten  Indians  to  one  white 
man ;  but  the  fort  had  been  built  by  one  who  knew 
the  strength  of  the  Indian,  and  the  means  best  adapt- 
ed to  guard  against  him.  The  fort  stood  the  onset 
during  all  these  fearful  hours.  The  woods  were  vocal 
with  the  war-cries  of  the  infuriated  Indian.  Boone's 
srarrison  fouo^ht  with  the  consciousness  that  defeat  or 
surrender  was  the  presage  to  a  fierce  death,  and  they 
fought  with  such  wise  courage  and  vigor,  that,  in  all 
this  siege,  their  loss  was  only  the  same  as  in  the  bat- 
tle of  the  fifteenth  of  Apri. —  one  man  —  and  the 
number  of  their  wounded,  two  less.  All  this,  by  in- 
ference, illustrates  Boone's  good  judgment.  He  must 
have  noticed,  like  a  good  commander,  the  every  inci- 
dent of  the  former  attack,  and  guarded  and  secured 
the  most  defenceless  position.  By  the  power  of  a 
good  Providence,  Boone  successfully  fought  out  this 
battle,  also,  and  he,  in  simple  language,  records  that, 
"  finding  themselves  not  likely  to  prevail,  they  raised 
the  siege  and  departed."  At  this  attack,  the  Indiana 
had,  instead  of  concentrating  all  their  force  on  ono 


CONTmUED    SKLRMISIIES.  157 

fort,  separated  into  different  parties,  and  by  vigor 
ously  assaulting  all  the  settlements,  prevented  theiy 
rendering  to  each  other  any  assistance.  Boone  knew 
the  Indians  well,  and  calculated  coolly  on  the  proba- 
bilities of  their  arrival.  The  bold  resistance  and  the 
slight  loss,  establishes  the  fact  that  he  was  at  all 
times  prepared  for  them,  knowing,  as  he  did,  their 
desperation. 

And  they  were  desperate.  He  says  that  they  were 
numerous,  and  dispersed  through  the  country,  intent 
upon  doing  all  the  mischief  that  savage  barbarity 
could  invent.  This  last.affair  seems  to  have  been  the 
crisis  of  this  campaign.  He  relates  that  on  the  twen 
ty-fifth  of  July,  forty -five  men  arrived  from  North 
Carolina,  and  on  the  twentieth  of  August,  Col.  Bow- 
man arrived  w^ith  one  hundred  men  from  Virginia. 
N^ow  they  began  to  strengthen,  and  from  hence,  for 
the  space  of  six  weeks,  they  had  skirmishes  with  the 
Indians,  in  one  quarter  or  another,  almost  every  day. 
The  savages  learned  the  superiority  of  the  Long 
Knife,  as  they  called  the  Virginians,  being  outgeu 
eraled  in,  every  battle. 

During  all  this  period,  the  settlement  of  which 
Boone  w^as  in  charge  knew  no  peace  —  no  exemption 
from  the  unrelenting  hostility  of  the  Indian,  intent 
upon  the  most  savage  assault.  Such  was  the  educa- 
tion and  the  experiences  of  Boone  with  the  Indiaa 
Such  a  life  has  made  D'ost  men  revenireful  and  cruel 


158  LIFE    OF   DANIEL    LOONE. 

It  is  in  scenes  like  these  tliat  the  pioneer  was  taiigh 
to  consider  the  Indian  as  a  wild  beast,  subject  to  the 
Bame  law  of  unrelenting  extermination,  and  to  be  i)ui- 
Bued  and  trodden  down  with  enduring  memory  of 
wrong.  And  it  is  here  that  the  character  of  Boone 
rises  above  his  contemporaries.  He  seems  to  havo 
always  met  the  attacks  of  the  Indian  with  a  bravery 
that  knew  no  diminution.  He  led  campaigns.  He 
was  the  iirst  to  break  in  upon  their  dominions  —  the 
first  to  lead  successfully  the  footstep  of  a  civilization 
they  detested,  and  through  wdiose  influences  they 
were  fading  from  the  earth ;  ^and  yet  his  life  shows 
that  he  never  seems  to  have  gone  beyond  the  line  of 
his  duty — never  used  his  power  in  wanton  cruelty; 
and  his  kind  treatment  by  the  Indians,  when  he  fell 
in  their  personal  power,  confirms  this.  They  knew 
him  as  a  foe,  but  a  generous  and  a  brave  one. 

Gen.  Clarke's  diary,  before  quoted,  in  its  record  for 
May,  1777,  has  the  following  entry  : 

"  May  23c?.  A  large  party  of  Indians  attacked  Boonesbor 
cugh  Fort.  Kept  a  warm  fire  till  11  o'clock  at  night.  Be 
gun  it  next  morning,  and  kept  a  warm  fire  till  'midnight, 
attempting  several  times  to  burn  the  fort.  Three  of  our 
men  were  wounded  —  not  mortally. 

"  2n/A.  A  party  went  out  to  hunt  Indians — one  wounded 
S<iu!ro  Boone,  and  escaped." 

Boone  does  not  appear  to  have  made  record  of  this, 
and  it  is  quite  prob'ible  tliat  the  entry  hi  Genera, 


NEWS    OF    HOWES    DEFEAT.  15J, 

iJiarke-s  journal  may  be  an  error  of  date.  It  indicatee 
tJie  life  which  tlie  ^^arrison  was  compelled  to  lead  ' 
nor  will  the  incident  be  passed  over,  that  the  faithful 
asd  bold  brother  of  Boone  was  by  his  side. 

About  the  tu^ontieth  of  September,  news  was  re- 
eoived  at  Boone's  residence  that  Gen.  Washington 
bad  defeated  Howe,  and  it  spread  through  the  settle- 
ment by  express,  it  gave  the  settlers  the  knowledge 
of  the  i-reat  man  whose  career,  as  the  leader  of  hia 
country  to  victory,  had  begun.  Gen.  Clarke,  in  no- 
ting in  his  diary,  says,  ''Joyfiil  news,  if  true?'  It 
was  only  by  some  messenger  reaching  them  at  peril 
of  his  life,  that  these  pioneers  received  the  news  of 
the  gi-eat  movements  of  the  country,  though  them- 
Beives  all  the  while  were  acting  a  bold  part  in  the 
Btruggle,  though  so  remote  from  the  public  observa- 
tion, that  they  might  have  been  annihilated,  and  nol 
a  vestige  of  the  settlement  left,  before  aid  could  have 
been  rendered  them  by  the  far-off,  seaboard  States. 


y.^ 


5^^&^iK^ 


CHAPTER    IX. 

atLP    tiBORGE  R.  CLARKE VIRGINIA  GRANTS  POWDER  TO  THE  C<  (LONT —TBI 

BRITISH  GARRISONS  AT  DETROIT,  VINCENNES,   AND    KASKASKIA GENERA! 

CXARKE  SECURES  THE  AID  OF  BOONE SIMON  KENTON HIS  CAPTIVITY   AN! 

."•BUEL  TREATMENT  BY  THE  INDIANS HIS  RESCUE THE  ANTICIPATED  RK- 

ONION  OF  THE  SURVIVORS THE    OLD    AGE   OF    KENTON AN    INDIAN  AT- 
TACK   BOONE  IS  WOUNDED  AND  NARROWLY  ESCAPES BOONE's  DARING 

AND  SERVICES  TO  THE  EMIGRANTS BOONE,  WITH  THIRTY  MEN,  PLANS  AM 

EXPEDITION  TO  THE  BLUE   LICKS. 

Gen.  George  Rogers  Clarke,  it  seems  to  be  con- 
ceded by  historians,  was  the  great  military  leader  of 
Kentucky  —  taking  the  direction  of  those  affairs,  the 
foundation  for  the  success  of  which  Boone,  in  his  ca- 
|)acity  as  pioneer,  had  laid.  To  him  that  great  State 
is  deeply  indebted,  and  her  historians  have  given  full 
measure  to  their  praise.  He  had  shown  his  power  in 
the  Council,  when  he  overthrew  the  claim  of  Hender 
son,  and  he  was  entering  on  a  long  and  glorious  ca- 
reer in  the  field.  He  had  been  engaged  in  "  Dun- 
inore's  "  war,  and  at  its  close  had  been  oft'ered  a  com 
mission  in  the  English  service,  which,  fortunately  for 
his  own  country,  he  declined. 

He  had  impressed  tlie  settlers  in  Transylvania  with 
':he  conviction  that  their  allegiance  was  due  to,  as 
Uicir  titles  §hould  come  from,  Virginia ;  and  he  ^sas 


GRANT    OF    rOWDEli    FROM    VIRGINIA.  ICl 

chosen  as  their  commissioner  or  representative  to  the 
General  Assembly  of  Yirginia.  He  consulted  with 
Governor  Henry,  who  took  it  into  his  counsels  to  ad- 
vise, on  a  subject  so  important,  his  best  men.  Clarke 
tald  the  story  of  the  frontier,  and  requested  from  Yir- 
ginia the  material  aid  of  five  hundred  weight  of  gun- 
powder. But  it  was  even  then  doubtful  whether  the 
claim  of  Henderson  might  not  be  established,  and  the 
ammunition  was  only  conditionally  provided.  Strange 
that  such  men  as  were  gathered  at  that  Council, 
would  not  listen  to  the  recital  of  the  real  condition 
of  the  frontier  —  of  its  harassing  difficulties  —  of  the 
alliance  of  the  Indians  w^ith  the  British  —  and  that 
Boonesborough  stood  as  a  bulwark  to  resist  the 
savages. 

All  this  w^as  unheeded.  Yirginia  did  not  realize 
that  in  the  calm  bravery  of  Daniel  Boone,  the  savage 
found  an  obstacle,  the  which  if  he  could  surmount, 
his  way  was  open  to  a  long  march  of  wild  fury 
against  the  settlements  of  the  Yirginians.  The  Coun- 
cil made  so  many  conditions  about  the  powder,  that 
Clarke  told  them,  in  memorable  phrase,  that  "  a  coun- 
try which  was  not  worth  defending  was  not  worth 
claiming."  This  allusion  to  an  independent  sovereign- 
ty, recalled  the  Council  to  reason,  and  the  ammuni- 
tion was  sent. 

Upon  his  return,  Gen.  Clarke  made  such  examina- 

tion  of  the  scene  and  circumstances  of  the  Indian 

11 


162  LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

warfare,  as  to  induce  him  to  concentrate  his  views  tc 
this  —  that  to  strike  the  boldest  blow,  was  to  conquer 
Detroit,  Yincennes,  and  Kaskaskia,  where  were  the 
stations  from  which  the  savages  obtained  supplies  of 
ammunition  and  food.  It  was  at  these  places  that  the 
Indians  learned  that  a  reward  would  be  given  for 
their  production  of  human  scalps  !  and  that  prisoners 
would  be  the  most  acceptable  gifts.  He  formed  his 
plan  —  visited  Virginia  —  laid  it  before  the  best;  of 
Virginia  —  before  Jeiferson,  and  Henry,  and  Wythe, 
and  Mason  ;  and,  encouraged  by  them,  went  forward. 
He  needed  men  who  knew  the  whole  frame-work  of 
Indian  life,  and  he  selected  Daniel  Boone.  To  the 
Pioneer  who  had  kept  Boonesborough,  any  bold  ser- 
vice might  be  assigned  ;  and  it  is  another  of  the  great 
incidents  of  his  history,  that  authority,  in  looking  for 
those  who  would,  with  most  fearlessness  and  good 
judgment,  conduct  a  great  undertaking,  found  its 
Bearch  concentrated  on  him. 

Collins  states,  that  the  war  in  Kentucky  had  been 
a  border  war,  and  its  conduct  an  irregular  and  a  pre- 
datory one  —  more  like  the  scenes  which  Scott  so  of- 
ten describes  and  which  characterized  the  counties 
that  lay  on  the  line  separating  England  from  Scotland. 
Every  man  fought  for  himself — selecting  his  own 
ground,  and  determining  his  own  time  —  and  finishing 
the  campaign  when  he  chose.  "  The  solitary  back- 
W'oodsman  would  sharpen  his  hunting  knife,  shoulde. 


ENDIANS    ENCOURAGED    BY   THE    BEITISH.  162 

his  rifle,  and  provide  himself  with  a  small  quantity 
of  parched  corn  as  a  substitute  for  bread,  and  then 
start  on  an  expedition  into  the  Indian  country."  Ila 
Boon  learned  to  more  than  rival  the  Indian  in  all  stra- 
tagem and  concealment,  and  to  seize  every  opportu- 
uity  of  harassing  the  foe. 

The  garrisons  of  Detroit,  Yincennes  and  Kaskaskia, 
lost  no  opportunity  of  promoting  and  encouraging 
the  Indian  depredations  on  the  Kentucky  frontier,  and 
to  prejudice  their  own  people  against  the  frontier  set- 
tlers. The  Indian,  if  he  could  come  back  to  strong 
military  posts,  whence  he  could  again  issue,  laden 
with  all  that  he  desired  with  which  to  continue  tlie 
warfare,  was  willing  to  see  the  war  go  on.  He  did 
not  comprehend  that  it  was  for  him  a  choice  whether 
he  should  have  a  British  or  an  American  master  ;  but 
considering  the  settlers  as  his  foe,  he  gladly  made  hia 
offensive  and  defensive  league  with  the  adherents  of 
the  crown,  and  believed  himself  likely  to  retake  all 
his  old  hunting  ground.  For  this  he  knew  no  step 
so  decisive,  as  to  destroy  Boonesborough.  That  fort 
was  obnoxious,  because  it  had  been  a  first  effort  of 
the  settler,  and  had  been  a  successful  one  ;  and  it  waa 
dreaded,  because  it  held  in  safety  the  man  who  had 
shown  the  world  that  the  skill  of  the  white  man  was 
oroof  even  against  the  terrors  of  a  solitude  in  the 
wilderness,  when  its  sway  by  the  savage  was  undis 
puted. 


lt)4  LIFE    OE    DAls^IEL   BOONE. 

Boone  was  aware  of  all  the  subtlety  of  the  Indian, 
and  seems  to  have  met  it  at  all  its  different  exhibi- 
tions. When  Gen.  Clarke  assumed  the  general  super- 
vision of  the  frontier  settlements,  a  company  of  spies 
was  organized,  for  the  payment  of  whom,  the  general 
pledged  the  faith  of  Yirginia.  Tlie  value  of  their 
service  was  appreciated  in  every  hour.  These  men, 
taking  the  duty  by  detachments,  roamed  up  and  down 
the  Ohio,  keeping  a  bright  watch  for  signs  of  Indian 
approach,  as  Boone  did  not  intend  that  his  fort  should 
encounter  a  second  sudden  attack.  He  appointed 
two  of  these  spies  —  and  one  of  these  was  the  re- 
nowned Simon  Kenton  —  a  man  whose  career  of  mem- 
orable activity  v/as  so  distinguished,  that  in  the  an- 
nals of  Kentucky  he  is  placed  second  only  to  our 
great  Pioneer,  as  among  the  founders  of  the  State. 
It  has  ever  been  among  the  qualities  of  those  who 
write  their  names  illustriously  in  the  annals  of  the 
world,  that  when  called  to  lead  in  great  enterprises, 
their  selection  of  those  who  shall  be  their  assistants, 
is  such  as  to  indicate  their  acute  knowledge  of  men 
and  estimate  of  character.  In  selecting  Kenton, 
Boone  brought  into  service  a  man  whose  name  is 
cherished  in  Kentucky  as  the  bold  and  brave. 

The  life  of  Kenton  was  one  of  romance.  At  the 
age  of  sixteen  he  had  fixed  his  affections  on  a  young 
^irl,  wlio  di  1  not  return  them,  but  preferred  another. 
Kenton  was  an  uninvited  guest  at  the  wedding,  and 


smON   KEN  i ON.  165 

m  the  rough  manners  of  those  <hivs,  was  severrly 
handled.  Meeting  his  favored  rival  some  short  time 
afterwards,  a  figlit  ensued,  in  wliich  Kenton  thongli' 
he  had  killed  liim,  and  he  fled  the  society  of  civilized 
man.  He  changed  his  name  to  Simon  Butler, 
plunged  into  the  forest,  and  thenceforth,  one  stirring 
adv^enture  after  the  other  succeeded,  in  all  of  which 
he  bore  a  bold  part  —  courageous  and  vigorous  —  and 
encompassed  by  danger  constantly. 

He  suffered  all  manner  of  cruelty  ;  eight  times  he 
was  condemned  to  run  the  gauntlet,  always  one  of 
the  most  cruel  of  the  Indian  inventions  of  horror ; 
three  times  tied  to  the  stake  ;  once  nearly  killed  by 
a  blow  fron.i  an  axe.  He  knew  all  the  terrors  of  be- 
ing the  Indian's  foe.  On  one  occasion  he  had  taken 
an  Indian  horse,  and  soon  afterwards  fell  into  their 
hands.  "  After  beating  him  till  their  arms  were  too 
tired  to  indulge  that  gratifying  recreation  any  longer, 
they  secured  him  for  the  night.  This  was  done  by 
first  placing  him  upon  his  back  to  the  ground.  Thej' 
next  drew  his  legs  apart,  and  lashed  each  foot  firmly 
to  stakes,  or  saplings,  driven  in  the  ground.  A  pole 
was  then  laid  across  his  breast,  and  his  hands  tied  to 
each  end,  and  his  arms  lashed  with  thongs  around  it, 
the  thongs  passing  under  his  body  so  as  to  keep  the 
pole  stationary.  After  all  this,  another  thong  waa 
passed  around  his  neck,  and  the  end  of  it  secured  to 
a  stake  in  the  ground,  his  head  being  stretched  back 


166  LIFE   OF   DAOTEL   BOONE. 

pn  iis  not  entirely  to  choke  liim.  In  this  originiil  man 
iiej-  he  was  left  to  pass  the  night.  The  detail  of  this 
crueltj  is  not  inappropriate  to  this  historj^,  as  the  con- 
trast between  this  treatment,  and  tliatto  which  Boone 
was  subjected  when  a  prisoner,  as  he  on  several  occa- 
eions  was,  indicates  very  apparently,  that  towards 
Boone,  the  Indians,  while  thej^  recognized  him  as  the 
great  leader  in  the  settlements  they  hated,  and  the 
expeditions  that  destroyed  them, —  yet  such  was  their 
confidence  in  his  real  worth,  that  towards  him  they 
had  no  bitterness  of  revenge.  All  this  confirms  the 
idea  that  the  Indians  never  confounded  Boone  with 
the  mere  Indian-killer.  They  could  respect  a  mag- 
nanimous foe  ;  and  Boone  had  often  the  greatest  rea- 
son to  congratulate  himself  that  he  had  been  an  open 
and  an  honorable  warrior  —  never  striking  the  unne- 
cessary blow,  but  ending  the  fight  when  the  victory 
was  won. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-four,  Kenton  was  rescued  from 
captivity,  by  the  wife  of  an  Indian  trader  —  a  Mrs. 
Harvey  —  who  was  won  by  his  fine,  manly  deport- 
ment. To  his  latest  hour,  the  old  man  recollected  the 
interposition  of  this  lady,  and  her  pleasant  image 
filled  a  thousand  dreams.  This  affair  is  kindred  to 
the  romances  which  were  frequent  in  the  hunter's 
life,  making  their  true  history  replete  with  incidents 
KO  singular  as  to  be  kindred  to  the  fictions  of  the  ro 
mancer. 


167 

"  This  lady  had  "become  interested  in  him.  and  upon  his 
solicitation,  promised  to  assist  him  and  two  other  Kentucki- 
ans^  prisoners  with  him,  to  procure  rifles,  ammunition,  6ic.- 
without  which,  a  journey  through  the  wilderness  could  not 
be  performed.  Engaging  in  their  cause  with  all  the  enthu- 
Biasm  of  her  sex,  she  only  awaited  an  opportunity  to  per 
form  her  promise.  She  had  not  long  to  wait.  On  the  third 
of  June,  1779,  a  large  concourse  of  Indians  assembled  at 
Detroit,  to  take  a  "  spree."  Preparatory  to  getting  drunk, 
they  stacked  their  guns  near  Mrs.  Harvey's  house,  who,  as 
soon  as  it  was  dark,  stole  silently  out  to  the  guns,  selected 
three  of  the  best  looking,  and  quickly  hid  them  in  her  gar- 
den, in  a  patch  of  peas.  Avoiding  all  observation,  she  has- 
tened to  Kenton's  lodgings,  and  informed  him  of  her  success. 
She  told  him,  at  midnight,  to  come  to  the  back  of  her  gar- 
den, where  he  would  find  a  ladder  by  means  of  which  he 
could  climb  over  and  get  the  guns.  She  had  previously 
collected  such  articles  of  food,  clothing,  ammunition,  &;c.,  as 
would  be  necessary  in  their  adventure.  These  she  had  hid 
in  a  hollow  tree,  well  known  to  Kenton,  some  distance  out 
of  town.  No  time  was  now  to  be  lost,  and  the  prisoners  at 
once  set  about  getting  things  in  order  for  their  flight.  At 
the  appointed  hour,  Kenton,  with  his  companions,  appeared 
at  the  designated  spot,  discovered  the  ladder,  and  climbed 
into  the  garden,  where  they  found  Mrs.  Harvey  sitting  by 
the  guns,  awaiting  his  arrival.  To  the  eyes  of  the  grateful 
young  hunter,  no  woman  ever  looked  so  beautiful. 

"  There  was  little  time,  however  for  compliments,  for  all 
around  could  be  heard  the  yells  of  the  drunken  savages 
—  the  night  was  far  advanced,  and  in  the  morning  the  gune 
would  be  missed.  Taking  an  afl^ectionate  leave  of  him.  witli 
many  tender  wishes  for  his  safety,  she  now  urged  him  to  be 
gone.     Heapii  g  thanks  and  blessings  on  her,  he  left  her,  aud 


t68  LIFE   OF   DANFEL   BOONE. 

rejoined  his  companions.  Kenton  novor  saw  her  afterwards 
but  he  never  forgot  her,  for  more  than  half  a  century  after 
wards,  when  the  wilderness,  and  the  savages  who  peopled  it, 
were  alike  exterminated  before  the  civilizing  march  of  the 
Anglo  Saxon,  the  old  pioneer,  in  words  that  glowed  with 
Ejratitude  and  admiration,  delighted  to  dwell  on  the  kindness, 
and  expatiate  on  the  courage  and  virtue  of  his  benetactress, 
the  fair  trader's  wife.  In  his  reveries  he  said  he  had  seen 
ner  a  thousand  times  sitting  by  the  guns  In  the  garden." 

Simon  Kenton  (for  when  he  ascertained  that  lie  had 
not  killed  the  young  man  with  whom  he  had  the  en- 
couDter,  he  took  his  own  name  again,)  lived  to  be  a 
very  old  man,  and  as  such  addressed  to  the  present 
generation  one  of  the  last  words  which  the  pioneers 
spoke.  When,  in  the  fall  of  1782,  Gen.  Clarke,  to  re- 
venge the  disaster  of  the  Blue  Licks,  spread,  with  an- 
other army  of  fifteen  hundred  men,  disaster  and  de- 
struction through  the  whole  Indian  country,  Kenton 
was  in  command  of  the  army.  His  exj^erience  in  the 
service  of  Boone  had  given  him  an  unsurpassed  know- 
ledge of  woodcraft,  and  he  was  the  reliance  of  the 
army.  When  this  expedition  was  returning,  and 
when  they  were  at  the  mouth  of  the  Licking,  on 
November  4:th,  the  romantic  engagement  was  made 
that  those  who  survived  for  fifty  years,  should  meet 
and  talk  over  the  perils  of  the  past.  This  was  first 
suggested,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  by  a  dying  soldier, 
who  breathed  his  last  as  he  was  descendinor  the  hill 
near  the  place  where  Cincinnatti,  in  all  the  glories  of 


REUNION    OF   THE     ?IOKEERS.  169 

a  great  city,  now  arises.  Tl  was  tlien  all  one  dense 
wilderness — the  forest  was  the  occupant  of  the  land, 
whose  vahie  is  now  estimated  only  by  millions. 

The  fifty  years,  in  the  sure  progress  of  the  wheels 
of  time,  rolled  around,  and  the  fourth  of  !N"ovember, 
1832,  was  the  day  when  this  extraordinary  reunion 
was  to  take  place.  Simon  Kenton  had  not  forgotten 
It,  and  to  encourage  the  attendance  of  all  who  sur- 
vived, he  wrote  the  following  address  —  a  gentle  and 
a  kindly  word  for  the  Old  Brave  : 

^'Fellow  Citizeks:  —  Being  one  of  the  first,  after  Col. 
Daniel  Boone,  who  aided  in  the  conquest  of  Kentucky,  and 
the  west,  I  am  called  upon  to  address  you.  My  heart  melts 
on  such  an  occasion.  I  look  forward  to  the  contemplated 
meeting  with  melancholy  pleasure ;  it  has  caused  tears  to 
flow  in  copious  showers.  I  wish  to  see  once  more  before  I 
die,  my  surviving  friends.  My  solemn  pledge  made  fifty 
years  ago,  binds  me  to  meet  ttiem.  I  ask  not  for  myself, 
but  you  may  find  in  our  assembly  some  who  have  never  re- 
ceived any  pay  or  pension,  who  have  sustained  the  cause  of 
their  country,  equal  to  any  other  service,  who  in  the  decline 
of  life  are  poor.  Then  you  prosperous  sons  of  the  west  for- 
get  not  those  old  and  gray-headed  veterans  on  this  occasicn ; 
let  them  return  to  their  families  with  some  little  manifesta- 
tion of  your  kindness,  to  cheer  their  hearts.  I  add  my 
prayer:  may  kind  heaven  grant  us  a  clear  sky,  fair  and 
pleasant  weather  —  a  safe  journey  and  a  happy  meeting,  and 
smile  upon  us,  and  our  families,  and  bless  us  and  our  nation, 
on  the  approaching  occasion. 

"Simon  Kenton." 
H 


170  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

The  cholera,  in  its  wild  ravaires,  prevented  the 
meeting  from  being  attended  as  could  have  been  de- 
sired. The  municipal  authorities  of  the  great  city  of 
Cincinnati,  entertained  those  who  did  attend  ;  but  the 
pestilence  being  in  the  city,  deterred  the  old  man  from 
approaching  it.  He  shared  the  usual  fate  of  the  pio- 
neer. The  State  that  he  had  built  up,  forgot  him,  oi 
recognized  him  only  by  the  cheap  pageant  of  a  forma 
welcome  to  Frankfort,  by  the  Legislature  there  as- 
sembled —  a  welcome  somewhat  in  contrast  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  been  allowed  to  wander  in  tattered 
garments,  an  unknown  stranger,  through  the  streets. 
Tlie  recompense  his  country  gave  him,  at  last,  and 
that  obtained  through  the  good  offices  of  Judge  Bur- 
nett and  Gov.  Yance  —  was  a  pension  of  two  hundred 
and  forty  dollars.  He  died  in  April,  1836,  "  in  sight 
of  the  place  where  the  Indians,  "fifty-eight  years  be- 
fore, had  proposed  to  torture  him  to  death."  He  died 
surrounded  by  his  family  and  friends,  and  supported 
by  the  consolations  of  the  gospel. 

Our  readers  will  not  overlook  the  significant  ex 
pression  which  the  old  man  uses,  in  his  letter :  "  Be- 
ing one  of  the  first,  after  Colonel  Daniel  Boone^  who 
aided  in  the  conquest  of  Kentucky,  and  the  West." 
He  bnngs  liis  most  valuable  testimony  to  tlie  fame  of 
the  great  Pioneer,  and  places  him  in  the  front  of  those 
who  aided  in  securing  for  civilized  man,  thk  west  — 
the  word  which  is  now  identified  with  a  great  nation, 


MEN  ATTACKED  NEAR  THE  FORT.        171 

every  hour  rising  liiglicr  and  higher  in  all  the  wortt 
and  wealth  that  makes  a  community  illustrious — the 
word  which  has  gone  throughout  the  earth,  as  desig- 
nating the  land  where,  in  the  midst  of  free  institu- 
tions, the  path  to  prosperity  lies  fully  open  to  whoever 
treads  it  with  honest  industry.  Boone  gave  to  hia 
countrymen  the  key  to  all  this  priceless  region. 

During  Boone's  occupancy  of  the  fort,  he  had  con- 
stant occasion  to  see  the  value  of  an  efficient  and  un- 
ceasing guard.  He  knew  his  foe,  and  he  felt  that 
with  such  an  enemy,  there  was  no  hour  for  quiet.  On 
one  occasion,  Kenton,  while  engaged  in  the  spy  ser- 
vice, for  which  he  had  been  detailed  by  Boone,  early 
one  morning,  having  loaded  his  gun  for  the  chase,  and 
just  before  leaving  being  at  the  gate  of  the  fort,  saw 
that  two  men  in  the  fields  were  fired  upon  by  the  In- 
dians. The  men  were  not  hit,  and  ran,  the  Indians 
being  in  pursuit,  and  the  pursuit  wasisuccessful.  So 
closely  did  horrors  encompass  the  walls  of  Boonesbo- 
rough,  that  one  of  these  poor  fellows  was  tomahawked 
and  scalped  within  a  few  hundred  feet  of  the  fort. 
Kenton  soon  turned  the  order  of  things,  shooting  the 
savage  dead,  and  giving  chase  to  others.  Boone,  in 
the  fort,  hearing  the  alarm,  rushed  out  with  ten  men. 
The  Indians  did  not  retreat  without  a  right  —  Kenton 
killing  one  of  them  in  the  act  of  firing  at  Boone's 
party.  Engaged  in  this  skirmish,  Boone  did  not  at 
tirst  perceive  in   liow  large  force  the   Indians    had 


173  LIFE   OF   DAJSTIEL   BOONE. 

gathered.  He  found  liimself  suddenly  cut  off  by  a 
body  of  savages  who  liad  placed  themselves  between 
him  and  the  fort.  The  hour  was  one  of  those  in 
which  a  bold  movement  is  the  only  one  that  can  be 
made.  He  gave  the  word  for  a  fire  and  a  charge, 
and  his  men  obeyed  him  ;  but  in  their  onset,  the  In- 
dians gave  one  fearful  fire,  and  Boone  and  six  of  his 
men  fell  to  the  ground,  wounded.  Boone's  leg  waa 
broken,  and  an  Indian  was  after  his  life,  for  in  a 
moment  the  uplifted  tomahawk  was  over  his  head. 
Kenton's  sure  rifle  ended  the  scene,  bringing  down 
the  savage,  and  rescuing  Boone.  They  succeeded  in 
getting  —  wounded  and  all  —  into  the  gate.  The  nar- 
rative significantly  says,  that  Boone  was  a  silent  man^ 
and  not  given  to  compliment^  but  was  warm  in  hia 
gratitude  to  Kenton.  Such  were  the  scenes  which 
relieved  the  dullness  of  frontier  life  ! 

The  times  were  busy  —  busy  in  all  the  incidents  of 
war.  The  hand  of  the  colonist,  on  seaboard  and  fron- 
tier, was  ready  at  a  moment  to  strike  for  the  fulfill- 
ment of  the  pledges  made  at  Philadelphia,  on  July 
4rth,  l^G.  But  in  the  midst  of  all  the  strife,  the  em- 
igration to  the  land  opened  by  Boone,  went  on.  Tlie 
rich  soil — the  delightful  climate  —  the  independent 
home,  attracted  the  traveler;  and,  with  and  without 
a  family, the  settler  dared  all  the  horrors  of  Indian 
neighborhood,  for  the  luxury  of  being  the  master  of, 
and  living  on,  his  own  land.     Mr.  Peck  truthfull3f 


and  interestingly  narrates  that  the  record  of  the  ser 
vices  rendered  by  Boone  to  the  emigrants,  would 
be  a  volume  of  memorials  of  the  best  of  actions. 

"  As  dangers  thickened,  and  appearances  grew  more  alarm- 
ing, as  scouts  came  in  with  rumors  of  Indians  seen  here  and 
there,  and  as  the  hardy  and  bold  woodsmen  sat  around  their 
camp-fires,  with  the  loaded  rifle  at  hand,  rehearsing,  for  the 
twentieth  time,  the  tale  of  noble  daring,  or  the  hair-breadth 
escape,  Boone  would  sit  silent,  apparently  not  heeding  the 
conversation,  employed  in  repairing  the  rents  in  his  hunting- 
shirt  and  leggins,  moulding  bullets,  or  cleaning  his  rifle.  Yet 
the  eyes  of  the  garrison  were  upon  him.  Concerning  '  In 
dian  signs,'  he  was  an  oracle.  Sometimes,  with  one  or  two 
trusty  companions,  but  more  frequently  alone,  as  night  closed 
m,  he  would  steal  away  noiselessly  into  the  woods,  to  recon- 
noiter  the  surrounding  wilderness ;  and  in  the  day-time, 
stealthily  would  he  creep  along,  with  his  trusty  rifle  resting 
on  his  arm,  ready  for  the  least  sign  of  danger ;  his  keen, 
piercing  eyes,  glancing  into  every  thicket  and  cane-brake,  or 
watching  intently  for  '  signs  '  of  the  wily  enemy.  Accus- 
tomed to  range  the  country  as  a  hunter  and  a  scout,  he  would 
frequently  meet  the  approaching  travelers,  on  the  road,  and 
pilot  them  into  the  settlement,  while  his  rifle  sujjplied  them 
with  provisions.  He  was  ever  more  ready  to  aid  the  com- 
munity, or  engage  in  public  services,  than  to  attend  to  hig 
private  interests." 

When  Boone  was  alone  in  the  wilds  of  Kentucky 
for  months  without  the  companionship  of  one  human 
being,  he  submitted  to  the  severe  deprivation  of  be- 
uig  without  b^'ead,  salt,  or  sugar.     This  was  a  triai 


174 


LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 


whicli  all  were  not  so  willing  to  endure.  There  was 
great  complaint  in  the  garrison  for  the  want  of  salt. 
It  was  a  necessity  which  entered  into  the  business  of 
life,  and  it  must  be  had.  It  was  a  duty  only  to  be 
performed  amid  peril,  as  certain  to  come  as  the  pro- 
gress of  time  ;  but  the  man  to  discharge  the  duty  waa 
at  hand.  Boone,  who  had  thus  far  maintained  the 
inviolability  of  his  fort,  defending  it,  and  making  it 
tlie  terror  of  the  red  man,  determined  to  leave  it  for 
the  even  more  dangerous  position  of  a  march,  and  an 
encampment,  where  there  would  be  no  fort  to  protect 
them,  and  where  they  would  meet  the  Indian  in  cir- 
cumstances much  more  favorable  to  the  success  of  the 
latter.  He  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  a  party  of 
thirty  men,  and  left  his  family.  He  had  often  left 
them  for  scenes  of  peril,  and  he  knew  all  the  proba- 
bilities of  these  forays  in  sufficient  force  to  make  him 
notice  that  he  was  more  likely  to  go  out  for  the  last 
time,  than  to  return  in  safety  ;  but  in  this,  as  in  aL 
his  life,  he  saw  that  his  duty  was  to  go  forward,  and 
he  fulfilled  that. 


CHAPTEK   X. 

rVB  RB  jE  LIORs      -  THE   EXPEDITION BOONe's    ADVENTURE    WITH   TWO    IM 

DIANS TUE        filANS  PLAN  AN  ATTACK BOONE  IS  TAKEN  PRISONER  WdlLB 

HUNTING 1    «1?ARTY  SURRENDER  AND  ARE  SPARED    THROUGH  HIS  INFLC 

ENCE BOOJ.j:  is  AFTERWARDS  TRIED  BT  COURT  MARTIAL  AND  HONORABLl 

ACXIUITTED-  BOONE  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS  ARE  TAKEN  TO  OLD  CHILLICOTHB 
THENCE  1  )  DETROIT REGARD  OF  THE  ENGLISH  FOR  BOONE THE  IN- 
DIANS REFlrsfi  A  LARGE  RANSOM THEY  RETURN  TO  OLD  CHILLICOTHE  WITH 

BOONE  ALONE THEY  ADOPT  HIM    INTO    THEIR  TRIBE THEY  SET  HIM  TO 

MAKING    SALT,  AND  PERMIT  HIM  TO  HUNT. 

Boone's  expedition  was  to  the  Blue  Licks,  famous 
for  their  richness  in  the  product  of  salt,  and  esteemed 
by  the  settler  as  the  possession,  in  the  defence  of 
which  all  the  force  of  the  frontier  should  be  engaged, 
rhey  soon  became  memorable  in  the  battle  history  of 
that  region.  The  principal  spring  is  situated  on  the 
northern  bank  of  the  Licking  River,  about  two  hun- 
dred yards  from  that  stream.  It  is  in  Nicholas  coun- 
ty, in  the  north-east  middle  part  of  Kentucky.  They 
who  now,  at  each  return  of  the  season,  visit  these 
springs,  would  not,  but  for  the  tradition,  believe  them- 
selves on  the  spot  where  the  very  necessities  of  lifa 
were  won  only  by  fierce  conflict,  and  whose  ground 
A^iil  ever  be  memorable  for  its  severe  struggle  bo- 


176  LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

twoeu  the  settler  and  the  savage.  There  are  now  al 
the  elegancies  of  a  fashionable  watering-place  — gieat 
hotels  —  the  luxurious  appendages  of  refinement  — 
all  that  can  minister  to  cultivation  and  taste.  The 
house  is  of  the  vast  length  of  six  hundred  and  seventy 
teet,  and  there  are  galleries  around  it  where  the  vi&- 
itor  can  find  his  walk  extended  over  eighteen  hun^ 
dred  feet. 

All  this  is  in  strange  contrast  to  the  scenes  w4iich 
Boone  witnessed.  He  and  his  party,  after  a  march 
through  the  woods  where  every  mile  was  won  by  sa- 
gacious movement,  arrived  in  safety,  and  proceeded 
to  the  work  of  preparing  salt  for  the  garrison.  They 
worked  never  out  of  the  grasp  of  their  rifles.  There 
w^as  never  an  hour  of  complete  security,  for  the  Indian 
would  hear  that  the  great  leader  of  the  settlers  had 
left  the  cover  of  the  fort,  and  was  in  the  forest.  Boone 
went  on  actively,  for  he  had  to  prepare  the  salt  for 
all  the  different  garrisons.  It  w^as  a  task  which  had 
to  be  done  rapidly,  for  the  cessation  of  it  —  the  turn- 
ing of  the  manufacturing  into  a  fight — was  probable 
each  day.  The  Indians  were  soon  to  investigate  what 
the  Long  Knives  were  after,  with  the  big  kettles,  and 
the  popular  expression  that  "salt  could  not  save 
them,"  might  be  realized  entirely  too  soon  But 
these  founders  of  a  nation  learned  every  day  that  dif- 
uCulty  is  the  companion  of  success  ;  and  they  worked 
on.     It  was  almost  easier  to  fig^ht  Indians,  than  t« 


ANECDOTE    OF    r>00:NE.  iTl 

bring  salt  over  the  mountains  on  pack-horses  from 
the  seaboard. 

Connected  with  the  expedition  to  the  Salt  Springs, 
IS  an  incident  which  should  be  noted,  as  it  shows  how 
often,  in  historical  events,  the  ideal  is  placed  for  the 
real,  and  what  is  originated  in  fiction  becomes  re- 
ceived as  authentic,  because  not  investigated.  Mr, 
Flint,  in  his  clear,  though  imaginative,  history,  re- 
lates that  when  Boone  was  at  the  Salt  Licks,  the  fol  - 
lowing  adventure  occurred : 

"  Boone,  instead  of  taking  a  part  in  the  diurnal  and  uiiiiv 
terrupted  labor  of  evaporating  the  water,  performed  thi 
more  congenial  duty  of  hunting,  to  keep  the  company  in  pro- 
visions while  they  labored.  In  this  pursuit,  he  had  one  day 
wandered  some  distance  from  the  bank  of  the  river.  Two 
Indians,  armed  with  muskets  —  for  they  had  now  generally 
added  these  efficient  weapons  to  their  tomahawks  —  came 
upon  him.  His  first  thought  was  to  retreat.  But  he  dis- 
covered, from  their  nimbleness,  that  this  was  impossible 
His  second  thought  was  resistance,  and  he  slipped  behind  a 
tree,  to  await  their  coming  within  rifle-shot.  He  then  ex- 
posed himself,  so  as  to  attract  their  aim.  The  foremost  lev- 
eled his  musket.  Boone,  who  could  dodge  the  flash,  at  the 
pulling  of  the  trigger,  dropped  behind  his  tree  unhurt.  The 
next  object  was  to  cause  the  fire  of  the  second  musket  to  be 
thrown  away  in  the  same  manner.  He  again  exposed  a  part 
of  his  person.  The  eager  Indian  instantly  fired,  and  Boone 
evaded  the  shot  as  before.  Both  the  Indians,  having  throwTi 
away  their  fire,  were  eagerly  striving,  but  with  trembling 
Hands,  to  reload.  Trepidation  and  too  much  haste  retarded 
H*  12 


178  LIFE   OF   DAmEL   BOONE. 

their  object.  Boone  drew  his  rifle,  and  one  of  them  fell  dead 
The  two  antagonists,  now  on  equal  grounds,  the  one  unsheath- 
ing  his  knife,  and  the  other  poising  his  tomahawk,  rushed 
toward  the  dead  body  of  the  fallen  Indian ;  Boone,  placing 
nis  foot  on  the  dead  body,  dexterously  received  the  well- 
Aimed  tOJiianawk  of  his  powerful  enemy  on  the  barrel  of  hia 
nfle,  thus  preventing  his  skull  from  being  cloven  by  it.  In 
dhe  vary  5*'3:V5jd?.  offering,  the  Indian  had  exposed  his  body 
to  the  knife  of  Boone,  who  plunged  it  in  his  body  to  the 
ailt." 

Now  this  has  been  received  as  true,  and  by  the  cur- 
/ent  public  judgment  was  deemed  very  appropriate 
And  probable,  because  Boone  was  considered  as  a  sort 
of  wild  adventurer  and  forest  hero,  on  a  large  scale. 
The  government  of  the  United  States  has  given  the 
i"^tory  to  sculpture  ;  having  at  great  cost  caused  it  to 
be  commemorated  in  stone,  in  a  group,  placed  over 
lihe  northern  door  of  the  rotunda  of  the  Capitol  at 
Washington.  The  incident,  as  a  symbol  of  what 
(night  have  occurred,  is  appropriate,  but  as  giving  to 
all  ages  a  portraiture  of  what  did  take  place,  is  value- 
less, because  no  such  incident  took  place.  Boone 
was  much  more  likely  to  be  in  the  most  arduous  of 
the  labor.  The  man  who  is  really  brave,  has  gen- 
erally seen  so  much  of  the  danger  that  needless  ex- 
p«3sures  are  avoided.  Those  who  make  our  statues 
and  pictures,  too  frequently  look  to  the  coloring  and 
grouping  rather  than  to  the  preservation  of  the  actual 
fact.    Tl)us,  in  the  famous  picture  of  the  Landiog  of 


»  NEW    EXPEI>ITION    AGAINST   EOONESi  OEOUGH.  17& 

the  Pilgrims,  the  Indian,  Samoset,  is  made  prominen 
as  extending  his  liand  to  the  disembarking  wanderer; 
while,  in  truth,  it  was  not  till  long  afterward  that  he 
came  among  the  Pilgrims,  and  astonished  them  by 
uttering,  in  their  own  language,  his  memorable  sain 
tation  of  "  Welcome  Englishmen." 

The  salt-makers  pursued  their  vocation  for  nearly  a 
month,  and  had,  though  a  watchful,  a  peaceful  labor, 
but  the  rest  was  a  temporary  one.  The  news  of  their 
occupation  of  the  Licks,  soon  reached  the  Indian.  It 
aroused  the  enemy  to  the  fact  that  it  might  be  prac- 
ticable, in  the  absence  of  Boone,  to  make  a  new  at- 
tack on  the  fort,  and  an  expedition  was  formed,  con- 
sisting of  one  hundred  and  two  Indians  and  two 
Frenchmen.  This  was  destined  for  Boonesborough. 
Boone  emphatically  says  "  that  place  being  particu- 
larly the  object  of  the  enemy."  Another  historian 
8ays.it  was  "a  particular  mark  for  Indian  revenge." 

Of  the  thirty  men  whom  Boone  had  brought  out, 
three  had  returned  to  the  garrison  with  the  salt,  and 
were  bearing  home  news  of  the  good  condition  of  the 
party  —  tidings  whose  sad  reverse  was  so  soon  to 
follow. 

On  the  seventh  of  February,  Boone  was  out  hunt- 
ing. The  old  sport  he  followed,  not  for  amusement, 
but  to  provide  food  for  the  party.  It  was  a  disastrous 
hunt  for  the  Pione^^.  He  had  wandered  some  dis 
tance  from  his  men  —  the  exemption  from  any  at 


180  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE.  * 

tack  for  nearly  a  month  having  emboldened  him  — 
and  while  engaged  in  the  chase,  he  was  suddenly  sur 
prised  by  this  expedition  of  the  Indians  and  French- 
men. Boone,  on  seeing  the  danger,  attempted  to  es- 
cape by  flight,  but  the  young  men  were  too  fleet  for 
him  —  though  he  was  yet  in  the  prime  of  life  —  and 
he  was  captured.  His  sagacity  seems  not  to  have 
been  at  fault  in  any  emergency.  Instead  of  obstinate 
and  fruitless  resistance,  which  would  have  excited  the 
anger  of  the  Indians,  he  yielded  in  the  manner  most 
gratifying  to  them.  He  was  again  their  prisoner.  It 
will  be  recollected  that  he  was,  in  all  probability, 
known  to  them  as  the  leader  of  the  white  men,  and 
yet  his  influence  over  the  Indian,  acquired  by  consum- 
mate sagacity,  soon  began  to  develope  itself.  He 
eays  the  Indians,  in  his  capitulation,  promised  him 
generous  usage. 

What  was  become  of  the  party  he  had  left  at  the 
Blue  Licks,  now  occupied  Boone's  mind  most  pain- 
fully. His  course  of  conduct  wa&  of  the  most  difli- 
cult.  The  Indians  were  determined  to  seize  them, 
and  Boone  prepared  for  what  he  believed  the  wisest 
course.  He  ingratiated  himself  immediately  with  the 
Indians,  for  which  he  always  seems  to  have  possessed  a 
rare  faculty.  He  was  well  known  to  them,  and  it  was 
in  tlieir  knowledge  that  he  had  never  sancti.med 
any  cruel  or  unusual  procedure  towards  them.  The 
fact  that  he  soon  won  their  confidence,  illustrates  tins, 


SUKRENDER    OF   BOOXE  S    PARIT,  181 

He  would  glarlly  linve  wnrnod  tlio  pnrtv  of  tlio  (Inn- 
ger,  so  that  they  conld  liave  tied  t(»  the  I'urt,  hnt  tliu 
was  iiii})Ossible,  and  lie  prepared  for  the  bold  move- 
ment of  a  surrender,  tiMiRtin*;-  to  his  power  over  the 
Indian,  to  secure  liis  men.  lie  approached  them  ; 
and  it  shows  the  mastery  that  Boone  had  over  his  fol- 
lowers, that  the  signs  wliich  he  made  to  them  to  yield 
themselves,  were  immediately  obeyed.  They  mi2"ht 
have  sold  their  lives  dearly,  and  before  capture  have 
made  the  Licks  memorable  for  a  ])loody  conflict ;  but 
Boone  judged  wiser.  He,  in  all  probabihty,  told  the 
Indians  that  if  his  men  had  assurance  of  kind  treat 
ment,  the  capture  would  be  easy  ;  but  that,  if  no  such 
assurance  was  given,  the  battle  would  be  bloody. 
The  party  surrendered  ;  and  Boone  records  that  the 
Indians  kept  their  word.  Neither  death  nor  torture 
awaited  them. 

For  the  surrender  of  his  party,  Boone,  a  short  time 
afterward,  when  released,  underwent  a  trial  by  court- 
martial.  The  charges  were  preferred  by  Col.  Calla- 
way, an  intimate  friend  of  Boone,  and  Col.  Benja- 
min Logan.  Boone  defended  himself,  and  so  effect- 
ually vindicated  his  conduct,  and  demonstrated  the 
Bagacity  of  his  course,  that,  not  only  was  he  honorably 
acquitted,  but,  at  its  close,  an  immmediate  promotion 
to  a  majority  followed. 

The  expedition  against  Boonesborough  seems  im 
mediately  to  have  been  relinquished  — indicating  ai 


1 82  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

Dnoe  the  go3d  effects  of  the  policy  pursued  byEoone 
Had  the  salt  party  fought  and  been  conquered,  as  was 
too  probable,  as  the  numerical  advantage  of  the  In- 
dians was  very  great,  and  the  whites  had  not  the  ad- 
vantages of  fortifications,  the  Indians,  flashed  with 
their  triumph,  would  have  gone  on  to  the  fort,  which 
would  have  been  surprised,  and,  as  its  leader  was  a 
prisoner  and  its  garrison  diminished,  the  settlement, 
in  the  winter,  would  have  been  captured,  and  the 
most  fearful  results  followed.  As  it  was,  the  whole 
plan  of  the  campaign  was  changed,  and  with  the 
great  Pioneer  and  twenty-seven  of  his  braves  as  pris- 
oners, the  Indian  expedition  returned  in  triumph. 
Tliey  then  proceeded  with  their  spoil  to  the  chief 
Indian  town  on  the  Little  Miami,  to  old  Chillicothe. 
The  march  was  in  the  severe  weather  of  Februar}^, 
which  Boone  and  his  companions  in  captivity  were 
probably  better  able  to  endure  than  the  Indians. 
Boone  says,  the  journey  was  uncomfortable  —  a  very 
mild  word  for  a  captivity  under  such  circumstances. 
He  rather  quaintly  says  that  they  received  as  good 
treatment  as  prisoners  could  expect  from  savages. 
This  was  on  the  eighteenth  day  of  February.  Boone 
must  have  made  good  use  of  his  time  and  opportuni- 
*^ies,  for  on  the  tenth  of  March,  he  had  so  won  on 
them  that  they  selected  ten  of  his  men,  and  sent  them, 
with  himself,  under  a  guard,  to  Detroit.  It  was  an- 
Dther  long  and  painful  march  through  the  wilderness^ 


BOONE   TAKEN   TO    DETROIT.  18o 

occupying  twenty  days.  Of  the  ronto  and  circnm 
stances,  Boone  has  left  no  record  ;  bnt  it  is  qnite  ev- 
ident that  he  was  all  the  while  laboring  to  fix  himself 
in  their  confidence  so  firmly,  that  it  wonhl  enable 
him  to  command  his  time  and  opportunity.  He  had 
the  ultimate  end  in  view,  at  all  hours,  and  made  hia 
plans  complete,  like  a  master  mind,  as  he  was. 

It  has  been  said  that  it  entered  into  the  calculatiora 
of  Boone  that  it  was  the  policy  of  Hamilton,  the  En- 
glish official  who  was  in  command  of  Detroit,  that 
for  scalps  he  gave  a  reward,  and  for  prisoners ;  and 
that  he  deemed  it  wisest  to  have  the  Indians  encour- 
aged in  bringing  in  prisoners  rather  than  scalps.  What 
a  change  has  been  wrought  in  the  opinions  of  man- 
kind in  the  last  half  century !     It  could  not  now  be  a 
regulation  of  war,  that  the  savage  should  be  encour- 
aged to  mutilate  his  victim,  without  drawing  on  the 
nation  who  could  thus  oflfend  the  moral  sense  of  man- 
kind, the  most  severe  reprobation.     It  is  not,  howev- 
er, in  the  truth  of  history  wisest  for  us  to  declaim 
against  the  policy  of  the  English  in  the  Eevolution,  in 
the  employment  of  the  savage,  as  if  they  were  the 
only  ones  who  had  erred,     l^otwithstanding  the  in- 
dignant language  used  by  Jeff'erson  in  the^Declara- 
tion,  in  which  the  incitement  of  the  savage  to  deeds 
of  blood,  is  recited  as  one  of  the  chief  acts  of  tyranny 
of  George  HI.— it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  assistance 
of  the  Indian  was    welcomed    by  oui    own    people, 


184  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

without  inquiring  too  closely  into  tlie  warfare  he  {..rac 
ticed.  Yet  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  our  leading  men  did 
not  cultivate  their  ferocity  or  imitate  it.  One  of  the 
Johnsons,  who  resided  on  the  Mohawk,  and  whose  in- 
fluence over  the  tribes  was  so  very  great  as  to  make 
his  will  their  law,  made  repeated  efforts  to  take  John 
Tayler,  of  Albany,  prisoner,  as  Gov.  Tayler  was  one 
of  the  chief  actors  in  the  Revolution.  After  the 
Revolution,  and  when  a  number  of  years  had  elapsed, 
at  a  sale  of  some  books  in  Albany,  Gov.  Tayler  dis- 
covered the  family  Bible  of  the  Johnsons.  lie  bought 
it,  and  sent  it  to  the  exiled  chieftain,  who  was  living 
in  Canada ;  saying  that  it  was  in  return  for  the  treat- 
ment he  had  received  from  him  during  the  war.  The 
extraordinary  answer  returned  by  Johnson  was,  that 
if  he  had  caught  him  in  the  Revolution,  lie  would 
have  given  him  to  tJie  Indians. 

Notwithstanding  Gov.  Hamilton's  reputation  as 
dispensing  rew^ards  for  scalps,  it  is  due  to  him  to  note, 
that  Boone  records  that  on  his  arrival  he  was  treated 
by  the  governor  with  great  humanity. 

lie  alludes  to  his  journey  with  the  Indians,  and 
Bays  they  treated  him  well,  or,  as  he  says,  entertained 
him ;  indeed,  as  Filson  writes  it,  (though  this  seems 
language  stronger  than  Boone  would  naturally  have 
used,)  "  their  affection  for  him  was  so  great."  The 
exaggerated  sentence,  however,  conveys  the  truth  tliat 
Boone  had  so  well  excercised  his  powers  of  kiudiiesg 


M0TIYE8    OF   THE    INDIANS.  18C 

and  his  sagacity  witli  the  Indians,  that,  although  he 
had  been  the  commander  of  a  strong  fortress  —  one 
which  annoyed  and  angered  them  more  than  any 
otlier  —  he  had  made  them  generons  and  friendly  to 
ward  him. 

The  motive  that  induced  the  Indians  to  risk  the 
journey  to  Detroit  with  Boone,  was  two-fold.  It  was 
to  inspire  the  English  with  a  sense  of  the  great  ser- 
vice which  they  had  rendered  by  securing  such  a 
captive,  and  to  show  Boone  the  friendly  relations  ex- 
isting between  them  and  the  royal  troops.  It  was  a 
refinement  of  cruelty,  though  not  intended  as  such, 
to  take  a  white  man  to  a  polished  and  agreeable  place 
like  Detroit,  and  not  to  allow  liim  to  remam.  It  could 
not  well  have  been  that  they  claimed  a  reward  for 
Boone,  as  for  the  other  prisoners,  because  that  would 
have  given  to  the  English  commandant  full  authority 
over  them.  It  was  rather  an  exhibition  of  the  great 
captive,  in  triumph,  since  all  barbarians  are  alike, 
whether  led  by  a  Shawanese  chieftain,  or  by  Titus  at 
Rome. 

Boone  still  wore  the  appearance  of  satisfaction  with 
his  position.  It  w^as  necessary  to  secure  such  confi* 
dence  as  should,  at  the  proper  time,  leave  him  un- 
guarded, and  he  looked  around  Detroit  with  his  In- 
dian guard,  as  if  it  had  not  inducement  to  alienate 
Uim  from  them. 

His  residence  at  Detroit  was  about  a  month.     It 


186  LIFE   OF  DAIOEL   BOONE. 

was  a  peculiar  position  for  a  prisoner.  He  knew  that 
at  any  Lour  he  might  be  summoned  to  resume  his 
toilsome  and  painful  march  as  a  captive.  He  was  in 
constant  communication  with  men  like  himself — of 
similar  birth  and  habit  —  and  yet  he  was  an  append- 
age to  a  tribe  of  wandering  savages.  The  English 
gentlemen  at  Detroit,  estimated  the  worth  of  the  no- 
ble-hearted Pioneer,  and  evidencing  the  kind  human 
nature  that  civilization  cultures,  they  pressed  upon 
him  the  oflfer  of  money,  and  whatever  else  his  neces- 
sities required.  Boone  plaintively  says,  they  were 
"  sensible  of  his  adverse  fortune,  and  touched  with 
human  sympathy."  He  acted  towards  his  generous 
friends  with  a  dignity  which  we  cannot  contemplate 
without  having  the  old  man's  memory  lie  nearer  our 
hearts.  He  declined  their  offer,  because  he  looked 
forward  through  the  probabilities  of  his  life,  and  saw 
no  prospect  of  his  being  able  to  repay.  He  gave  them 
"  many  thanks  for  their  kindness — their  unmerited 
generosity." 

In  Detroit,  the  arrival  of  this  celebrated  Pioneer 
must  have  been  an  event  of  extraordinary  interest. 
Caged  by  the  savage,  he  showed  no  fear ;  but  with  al 
the  horror  of  Indian  captivity  before  him,  was  yCt 
the  simple-hearted  pioneer.  The  intelligent  English 
knew,  through  the  notice  taken  of  him  by  Lord  Dim 
more,  by  Henderson,  and  by  the  people  generally,  hi? 
consequence  and  w:)rth.     They  had  received  no  suer 


181 

Vwtitor,  and  it  was  iinquestionablj  a  serious  grief  tc 
them,  that  the  Indian  insisted  upon  retaining  him. 
Yet  tliey  did  not  dare  to  thwart  the  Indian,  because 
the  war  against  the  Colonies  needed,  they  thought, 
Buch  terrible  alliance. 

That  the  interest  manifested  in  Boone  by  Com- 
mandant Hamilton  was  not  feigned,  was  shown  by 
his  offer  to  the  Indians  of  the  sum  of  one  hundred 
pounds  sterling  —  a  very  large  ransom,  in  the  value 
of  money  in  those  days.  That  such  an  ofi'er  was  re- 
fused, indicates  the  great  value  which  the  Indians  at- 
tached to  the  possession  of  Boone  ;  but  it  also  proves 
another  thing,  that  the  government  of  Britain,  in  the 
administration  of  its  power  by  the  authorities  in  the 
Colonies,  regarded  the  alliance  of  the  Indian  as  so 
valuable  as  to  induce  every  effort  to  please  them. 
Else,  certainly  such  a  prisoner  as  was  Boone,  would 
have  been  taken  into  the  guardianship  of  the  military 
power.  But  there  was  much  about  Boone  for  the  Li- 
dian  to  admire.  This,  all  his  intercourse  with  tliem 
Beems  in  prove.  The  Indians  occasionally  found  a 
white  man  in  whom  they  had  every  confidence,  and 
for  whom  tbey  manifested  as  much  of  friendship,  if 
not  of  affection,  as  was  in  their  natures.  It  was  so, 
two  hundred  years  before,  in  the  instance  of  Corlear, 
the  Hollander,  who  obtained  such  possession  of  the 
Indian  heart  as  to  be  all-powerful  with  them,  and  so 
that  their  synonym  for  lionor  and  beauty,  was  his 


188  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

name.  Boone  was  quiet  and  silent.  Tliis  pleased  the 
Indian.  It  was  so  different  from  the  noisy  brawling 
of  the  mere  hunter,  that  in  his  taciturnity  the  Pioneer 
seemed  to  assimilate  the  character  of  tlie  man  of  the 
woods.  He  was  brave.  His  conduct  had  proved 
this  ;  but  he  won  his  bravery  as  a  soldier  and  not  as 
a  tyrant.  He  seemed  to  be  willing  to  deal  with  the 
Indians  as  having  manhood  and  humanity  about  them, 
instead  of  waging  a  war  of  extirpation,  as  against 
wild  beasts.  The  Indians  could  not  imagine  how  Boono 
could  be  a  perpetual  foe  to  them. 

They  probably  believed  that  time  would  reconcile 
him  to  his  captivity,  and  that  if  they  could  identify 
him  with  them,  he  would  be  of  invaluable  service  to 
them.  Hence,  it  was  dangerous  to  let  liim  remain  too 
long  at  Detroit,  and  having  satisfied  their  vanity  by 
the  exhibition  of  their  powerful  prisoner,  they  deter- 
mined to  return  to  the  wilderness.  The  men  who 
had  been  taken  prisoners  with  Boone  at  the  Salt  Licks, 
were  left  as  prisoners  with  the  British  —  where  they 
received  the  fortune  of  war,  as  dispensed  by  those 
who  respected  the  captured  soldier  —  a  fate  infinitely 
preferable  to  that  which  would  have  been  theirs,  if 
Boone  had  not,  by  his  prudent  course,  rescued  tliem 
from  a  bloody  death  or  a  cruel  captivity. 

Boone  left  Detroit  on  the  tenth  of  Ajiril.  The  com- 
mandant doubtless  lamented  the  sad  circumstances 
which  prevented  him  from  assuming  full  power  over 


RETURN    TO    THE    WILDERNESS.  18 

nim ;  for  when  the  ransom  was  offered,  it  was  with 
the  intention  to  allow  Boone  to  return  to  his  home,  a 
prisoner  on  parole.  Probably  the  safety  of  Boone 
with  his  captors  was  considered  very  problematical, 
fts  the  British  officers  knew  that  any  sudden  and  se- 
vere disaster  occurring  to  the  savages,  might  induce 
them  to  murder,  in  revenge,  whatever  white  man  was 
in  their  power.  The  march  of  the  Indians  was  again 
towards  old  Chillicothe,  and  it  was  a  long  and  a  fa- 
tiguing one  ;  but  during  its  progress,  Boone  looked 
around  and  made  an  intelligent  observation  of  the 
general  appearance  of  the  country.  That  region 
whose  every  acre  is  now  the  scene  of  a  prosperous 
activity,  by  whose  resources  the  nation  is  cheered  and 
enriched,  lay  there  in  all  its  forest  wealth ;  but  the 
judgment  of  the  Pioneer  determined  it,  as  he  says,  to 
be  "  an  exceeding  fertile  country,  remarkalble  for  fine 
springs  and  streams  of  water."  Boone's  own  record 
of  his  conduct  in  captivity  is  remarkable : 

"  At  Chillicothe  I  spent  my  time  as  comfortably  as  I 
could  expect ;  was  adopted,  according  to  their  custom,  into 
a  family,  where  I  became  a  son,  and  had  a  great  share  in  the 
alfection  of  my  new  parents,  brothers,  sisters  and  friends.  1 
was  exceedingly  familiar  and  friendly  with  them,  always  ap- 
pearing as  cheerful  and  satisfied  as  possible,  and  they  put 
great  confidence  in  me.  I  oflen  went  a  hunting  v/ith  them, 
and  frequently  gained  their  applause  for  my  activity  at  oiif 
shooting  matches.  I  was  careful  not  to  exceed  many  of 
^^hem  in  shooting  ;  for  no  people  are  more  envious  than  thej 


190  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

in  this  sport.  I  could  observe  In  their  countenances  and  ges 
tures,  the  greatest  expressions  of  joy  when  they  exceeded 
me ;  and,  when  the  reverse  happened,  of  envy.  The  Shawar 
nese  king  took  great  notice  of  me,  and  treated  me  with  pro- 
found respect,  and  entire  friendship,  often  entrusting  me  to 
hunt  at  my  liberty.  I  frequently  returned  with  the  spoils  of 
the  woods,  and  as  often  presented  some  of  what  I  had  taken 
to  him,  expressive  of  duty  to  my  sovereign.  My  food  and 
lodging  were  in  common  with,  them ;  not  so  good,  indeed, 
as  I  could  desire,  but  necessity  made  everything  aa^eptable." 

Boone  bad  so  completely  concealed  his  purposes, 
and  so  ingratiated  himself  with  bis  captors,  that  they 
thought  that  they  had  secured  him.  In  order  to  iden- 
tify bim  as  closely  as  possible  with  them,  and  attach 
him  to  them  by  a  tie  which  they  thought  could  not 
be  broken,  they  adopted  him  into  their  tribe.  Mr. 
Peck,  whose  narrative,  from  having  been  collected  in 
some  of  its  leading  incidents  from  Boone  himself,  is 
the  standard  authority,  next  to  the  account  prepared 
by  Filson,  from  Boone's  information,  gives  some  par- 
ticulars which  are  curious  and  interesting.  Black- 
fish,  a  distinguished  Shawanese  chief,  had  lost  a  son, 
who  was  a  warrior.  These  were  days  when  vacan- 
cies in  an  Indian  family  were  quite  likely  to  occur, 
if  the  rifles  of  the  settlers  could  get  a  chance  to  make 
themselves  felt.  Blackfish  selected  Boone  as  the  indi- 
ridual  who  should  supply  the  loss  to  bim,  and  it  was 
proposed  to  him  that  be  should  be  adopted  by  all  the 
due  forms  into  the  tribe.     True  to  his  sagacious  pol- 


ADOPTED    INTO   THE   TKIBE.  19i 

icy,  Boone  consented,  for  he  knew  well  that  the  dis- 
tinction between  the  wise  and  the  foolish,  is  often  that 
the  former  allows  a  plan  to  be  fully  matured  before  he 
acts  on  it,  while  the  latter  is  hasty,  and  before  the 
power  is  completely  within  grasp,  acts  upon  it. 
Boone  had  now  been,  the  Indians  thought,  somewhat 
thoroughly  tested.  He  had  been  in  the  forest  and  in 
the  city,  and  in  both  had  seemed  to  be  contented. 
They  knew  that  in  the  city  especially,  he  had  often 
good  opportunity  to  get  away  ;  for,  in  all  probability, 
the  British  would  have  looked  leniently  on  his  escape, 
as  they  would,  and  rightly,  have  known  that  his  feel- 
ings towards  them  would  have  been  softened  by  their 
kindness.  They  saw  in  him  a  man  distinguished  in 
all  that  they  thought  adorned  manhood,  and  if  they 
could  win  such  a  one  to  their  tribe,  it  was  most 
desirable. 

Mr.  Peck  says,  "  The  forms  of  the  ceremony  of 
adoption  were  often  severe  and  ludicrous.  The  hair 
of  the  head  is  phicked  out  by  a  tedious  and  painful 
operation,  leaving  a  tuft  some  three  or  four  inches  in 
diameter,  on  the  crown  for  the  scalp-lock,  which  is 
cut  and  dressed  up  with  ribbons  and  feathers." 

After  all  this,  he  is  thoroughly  washed,  and  "  the 
white  blood  "  rubbed  out.  He  is  then  taken  to  the 
Council  House,  v/here  a  speech  is  made  him,  in  which 
he  is  assured  of  all  the  honors  intended  and  services 
expected.     After  this,  follows  a  luminous  painting  of 


192  LIFE    UF    DAJSIEL    Bu<  )AE. 

head  and  face,  and  tlie  ceremony  concludes  with  a 
feast  and  the  pipe. 

To  all  this  Boone  submitted.  They  might  make 
the  Pioneer,  darkened  by  the  exposure  of  so  many 
huntings  and  campaigns,  to  resemble  an  Indian,  but 
tliey  could  not  pat  in  his  heart  purposes  of  revenge 
or  love  of  cruelty.  In  all  of  it  he  saw  but  one  thing, 
and  that  was,  that  it  facilitated  his  great  design  of 
reaching  home  at  some  period. 

Boone  relates  his  sagacious  and  courtier-like  man- 
ner of  leaving  the  honors  of  the  shooting-match  to  be 
won  by  the  Indian.  He  soon  saw  that  he  was  win- 
ning their  confidence,  but  he  could  not  but  notice 
that  they  did  not  entirely  trust  him.  He  was  allowed 
to  hunt ;  but  they  counted  his  balls,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  show  what  game  he  had  shot,  and  thus 
prove  tliat  he  had  not  concealed  any  of  the  ammuni- 
tion to  be  used  in  an  escape.  But  Boone  had  an  art 
beyond  them,  for  he  divided  the  balls  into  halves  and 
used  light  charges  of  powder.  The  Indian,  with  all 
his  watchfulness,  never  supected  this  ;  and  Boone  had 
too  much  self-control  to  show  the  least  exultation  in 
outwitting  them. 

He  never  seems  to  have  foro;otten  the  i^^reat  "  mis- 
Bion"  which  he  always  believed  was  his  —  the  subju 
gation  and  development  of  the  beautiful  and  fertile 
west,  to  the  settler.  Even  as  a  wandering  captive, 
bis  lieart  was  not  so  heavy  but  that  he  could  observe 


EMPLOYKD    IN    SALT-MAKING.  1^)3 

the  bemity  of  the  soil,  and  while  he  was  hunting 
around  Cliillicothe,  his  investigation  and  research  were 
continued.  He  hunted  for  them,  and  he  says  ho 
"  found  the  land,  for  a  great  extent  about  this  river, 
to  exceed  the  soil  of  Kentucky,  if  possible,  and  re- 
markably well  watered."  He  could  scarcely  imagine 
the  possibility  that  any  land  could  exceed  his  beloved 
Kentucky,  to  which  he  had  called  the  attention  of 
the  world,  and  towards  which,  while  he  was  a  pris- 
oner, the  settler,  anxious  to  realize  the  truth  of  all 
that  Boone  had  said,  was  pressing  with  all  his  vigor, 
daring  every  hour  the  same  captivity  in  which  the 
Pioneer  himself  was  held. 

The  Indians  recollected  in  what  pursuit  they  had 
found  Boone,  and  had  a  very  practical  idea  of  making 
him  useful  to  them.  So  they  took  him  to  the  Salt 
Springs  on  the  Scioto,  as  they,  like  their  white  breth- 
ren, desired  this  indispensable  article.  In  all  the  de- 
partments of  duty  they  found  their  prisoner  useful, 
and  he  turned  to  every  service  which  they  required 
of  him  with  a  readiness,  the  sincerity  of  which  they 
could  not  question.  Salt-making  was  not  exactly  in 
the  Indian's  line.  It  belonged  too  much  to  work,  and 
the  Indian,  in  his  forest,  was  too  lordly  to  submit  to 
any  physical  exertion  not  prompted  by  his  pleasure. 
For  ten  days  he  was  busy,  and  his  Indian  guard  un- 
doubtedly admired  the  quiet  industry  with  which 
their  adopted  son  ministered  to  their  comfort.  Hia 
I  13 


194 


LJFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 


narrativo  shows,  also,  this  extraordinary  fact,  that 
Buch  was  his  superiority  in  hunting,  that  these  wild 
men,  brought  up  to  know  no  otlior  occupation,  em- 
ployed him  to  hunt  for  them. 


\  Ll^fiil 


CHAPTEK    XI. 

ktVAifiS  AT    BOONESBOROUGH  BOOXe's  WIFE  RETURNS  TO  NORTH  C/^R01IN4 

BOONE  RETURNS  FROM  THE  SALTLICKS  TO  CHILLICOTHE HE  FINDS  THB 

INDIANS  PREPARING    AN  EXPEDITION     AGAINST    BOONESBOROUGH  ~    BOONK 

MAKES  HIS  ESCAPE,   AND  ARRIVES  AT  THE  FORT HE  HASTILY  REPAIRS  THB 

FORT BOONe's  EXPEDITION  TO  PAINT  CREEK DEFEAT  OF  THE  INDIANS 

RETURN  OF  THE  PARTY ARRIVAL    OF    A  LARGE  BODY  OF  INDIANS,  LKD 

BY  DUQUESNE THE  GARRISON  SUMMONED  TO  SURRENDER. 

Boone  had  now  been  absent  from  the  fort  four 
months  and  three  days.  It  was  a  long  and  weary  time. 
Ill  all  of  it,  he  had  no  intercom-se  with  those  who  were 
most  dear  to  him,  and  of  friends  or  family  he  could 
hear  nothing.  Of  the  general  progress  of  events  he 
had  learned  at  Detroit,  but  obtained  his  information 
there  from  sources  the  most  anxious  to  impress  upon 
a  leading  mind  like  his,  that  to  the  feeble  Colonies, 
seaboard  and  frontier,  all  was  gloomy  and  disastrous, 
and  that  the  British  had  conquered,  and  would  soon 
completely  destroy  the  rebellion.  All  the  news  the 
Indians  brought  him  was  of  their  own  success.  At 
the  fort,  the  capture  of  Boone  and  his  party  was 
known,  but  the  circumstances  could  not  have  been, 
else  a  different  course  of  conduct  would  have  been 
maintained.     They  had  learned,  by  the  report  brought 


196  LIFE   OF   DAJSIEL   BOONE. 

Dy  prisoners  effecting  an  escape,  that  he  had  been  at 
Detroit.  Indeed,  the  English  anthoiities  would  natu 
rally  have  given  all  currency  to  the  fact  that  they 
had,  by  their  allies,  captured  the  great  leader  of  the 
settlers.  Such  a  deed  would  convey  a  more  forcible 
idea  of  the  prowess  of  the  Indian,  and  would  be  effect 
nal  in  disheartening  the  Americans.  But  it  seems 
that  the  garrison  and  Boone's  friends  took  the  obvious 
view  of  the  subject,  that  once  in  the  British  power, 
the  Indian  would  relinquish  their  distinguished  pris- 
oner to  the  royal  troops.  That  he  was  brought  to 
Detroit  only  to  be  shown  as  a  part  of  a  triumphal  dis- 
play, they  did  not  imagine  ;  and  as  his  subsequent 
fate  was  unknown,  they  imagined  that  he  had  been 
sent  far  off  into  the  interior,  into  Canada.  The  con- 
sequences of  the  absence  of  their  leader  soon  begun 
to  develop  themselves  in  the  want  of  attention  to  the 
defences  of  the  fort.  Had  they  known  the  real  state 
of  Boone's  affairs,  it  is  probable  a  different  course 
would  have  been  adopted. 

It  was  not  known  to  them  that  the  anxiety  of  the 
Indians  to  possess  themselves  of  Boonesborough  had 
been  so  great  that  the  capture  of  Boone  resulted  from 
a  winter  expedition  —  a  thing  very  unusual  —  direct- 
ed to  the  subjugation,  if  possible,  of  the  fort.  It  is 
prubal)le  that  it  was  in  the  belief  that  the  Indians 
would  not  move  during  the  winter,  that  induced  tlie 
ealt-maki ng  party  to  venture  away  from  the  garrison 


THE   FORT    AT    BOONESROROIJGH.  19*^ 

Boone  had  hecn  so  mneli  tlio  loader  of  the  forces  at 
Booiiesboroiigh,  and  had  so  concentrated  in  hiinscilf 
•"he  preparations  constantly  in  readiness  against  sur- 
prise, tliat  when  he  was  away  there  w^as  none  to  take 
nis  place.  "  The  fort»"  says  Flint,  "  was  a  perfect 
parallelogram,  including  from  a  half  to  a  whole  acre 
A  trench  was  then  dug  four  or  five  feet  deep,  and 
large  and  contiguous  pickets  planted  in  the  trench,  so 
as  to  form  a  compact  wall,  from  ten  to  twelve  feet 
above  the  soil.  The  pickets  were  of  hard  and  dura- 
ble timber,  about  a  foot  in  diameter.  The  soil  about 
them  w^as  rammed  hard.  At  the  angles  were  small 
projecting  squares,  of  still  stronger  material,  and 
planting,  technically  called  flankers^  with  oblique 
port-holes,  so  that  the  sentinel  could  rake  the  external 
front  of  the  station  without  being  exposed  to  sliot 
from  without.  Two  immense  folding  gttes  were  the 
means  of  communication  from  without." 

The  garrison  evidently  believed  that  the  danger  to 
Boonesborough  was  not  immediate.  The  galLant  con- 
duct of  Gen.  Clarke  —  the  more  difi'used  settlements 
—  the  increased  emigration — all  induced  a  disorgan 
ization ;  and  the  probabilities  are  that  if  the  Indian 
had  possessed  the  sagacity  then  to  attack  tlie  fort, 
while  they  held  its  leader  as  prisoner,  it  would  have 
been  compelled  to  yield,  and  what  Boone  had  so  often 
defended,  would  have  been  a  subject  of  the  savages* 
triumph. 


198  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOOKE. 

The  wife  of  Boone  had  seen  too  much  of  the  frontie, 
life,  and,  by  the  most  painful  experience,  known  its 
dangers,  not  to  realize  that  the  residence  at  Boones- 
borough  was  a  precarious  one,  when  her  husband  was 
away.  She  had  her  family  around  her.  While 
Boone  was  there,  though  it  was  a  strange  and  wild  life 
for  the  nurture  of  children,  when  the  midnight  might 
at  every  recurrence  be  the  hour  for  a  bloody  death ;  yet. 
for  the  love  of  the  husband  and  tlie  father,  it  might 
be  borne.  She  had  estimated  all  these  dangers  when 
she  left  North  Carolina.  Boone's  absence  had  now 
continued  so  long  as  to  render  it  much  more  than 
doubtful  whether  he  would  ever  again  appear.  The 
life  of  tlie  settler  was  suspended  upon  a  thread,  and 
it  seemed  most  probable  that,  in  Boone's  case,  it  was 
severed.  Boone  himself  relates  that  his  wife  des- 
paired of  ever  seeing  him  again.  She  knew  that 
Boone  had  once  before  been  a  prisoner,  and  had  es- 
caped, and  she  had  heard  from  him  his  statement  that 
it  was,  in  Indian  judgment,  a  grievous  crime  ;  that  it 
seemed  to  them  almost  unforgiveable  that,  when  they 
had  spared  the  life  of  a  captive,  he  should  leave  them, 
especially  as  his  stay  with  them  enabled  him  to  com- 
municate such  information  of  what  their  real  condi 
tion  was ;  and  although  her  anxieties  were  relieved 
by  the  knowledge  that  he  had  been  taken  to  Detroit, 

er  fears  and  sorrow  returned  when  she  found  tliat 
all  trace  of  him  ceased  there.     Tier  husband,  in  his 


MRS.    BOONE    REITJRNS    TO   NORTH    CAROLINA.  191? 

narrative,  say?,  that  she  expected  that  the  InJlaTif? 
iiad  killed  him.  She  had  seen  her  bright  and  cher« 
ished  son  shot  down  by  the  savages,  thongh  he  had 
done  them  no  harm.  How  could  she  anticipate  any 
other  fate  for  the  bold  leader  who  had  so  often  made 
the  Indian  feel  his  prowess. 

But  there  was  something  more  than  the  sorrow  for 
her  husband's  probable  loss.  Boone  relates  that  she 
was  "  oppressed  with  the  distresses  of  tlie  country," 
as  well  as  "  bereaved  of  me,  her  only  happiness."  In 
all  these  circumstances  of  peril  and  sorrow,  the  earn- 
est energy  of  the  woman  did  not  forsake  her.  She 
determined  to  leave  the  fort,  and  return  to  her  father's 
house,  in  North  Carolina,  and  she  acted  out  her  de- 
termination. With  her  family  and  her  effects,  she 
left  the  protection  of  the  garrison,  and,  on  horseback, 
through  what  Boone  characterizes  as  a  multitude  of 
dangers,  she  found  the  long  journey  before  her.  This 
was  an  enterprise  worthy  of  the  wife  of  the  great  Pi- 
oneer. It  was  a  journey  from  which  the  greater  part 
of  mankind  would  have  drawn  back.  It  is  gratifying 
to  be  able  to  record  that  she  safely  reached  her  old 
home.  The  good  Providence  that  had  preserved  her 
heroic  husband's  life  amidst  so  many  dangers,  did  not 
desert  her.  It  is  true  that  she  only  removed  from  one 
scene  of  war  to  another,  but  in  the  old  States,  the 
usages  of  civilization  prevailed,  and  she  was  wherp. 


200  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

since  she  believed  her  husband  was  hist  to  her,  th<j 
kindness  of  the  paternal  mansion  was  doubly  prized. 

Mrs.  Boone  must  have  believed  that  a  destiny  of 
sorrow  was  associated  for  her  with  the  settlement  ol 
the  West, —  her  son  killed,  her  husband  gone,  and,  as 
she  thought,  with  similar  fate  —  her  home  at  the  fort 
always  held  by  the  most  precarious  tenure  —  it  is  in 
the  experiences  of  such  women  that  we  realize  at  what 
cost  of  all  that  the  heart  values,  the  foundations  of 
these  States  were  laid.  She  was  only  reenacting  the 
same  scenes  of  suffering  which,  under  differing  pha- 
ses, the  pioneers  of  Albany,  and  Jamestown,  and 
Plymouth,  had  experienced. 

Boone  having  been  successful  and  satisfactory  as  a 
salt  manufacturer  was  taken  back  to  Chillicothe.  It  is 
quite  probable  that  he  was  sent  off  to  give  the  better 
opportunity  for  the  preparation  which  he  found  in  ac- 
tivity when  he  returned.  He  says  he  was  "  alarmed  to 
see  four  hundred  and  fifty  Indians,  of  their  choicest 
warriors,  painted  and  armed  in  a  fearful  manner, 
ready  to  march  against  Boonesborough."  This  seems 
-to  have  been  unexpected  by  Boone,  and  to  have  fas- 
tened the  consummation  of  his  plans.  It  is  quite 
probable  that  the  Indian  spies  had  heard  that,  during 
the  captivity  of  their  leader,  the  garrison  at  Boonesbo- 
»-ough  had  allowed  the  fort  to  be  out  of  repair.  A 
neglect  of  care  for  the  fortification,  would  be  accom 
panied  by  less  watchfulness  and  caution,  and  th  3  warj 


A   NEW    EXPEDITION    AGAINST   THE    FORT.  20 j 

Indian  who  ventured  near  the  scene,  could   leadily 
absorve  that  there  were  broken  places  —  weakeiieu 

imbei«-—  and  the  easy  avenue  for  a  surprise.  Boone 
was  too  sagacious  to  evince  that  he  took  any  interest 
in  tlie  procedure,  and  especially  did  he  conceal  his 
own  accurate  knowledge  of  the  Shawanese  dialect,  so 
that  the  Indians  talked  freely  and  fully  all  around  him 
and  he  obtained  a  complete  knowledge  of  all  their 
plans.  It  was  a  bitter  trial.  He  felt  that  he  was  in 
the  power  of  the  Indians,  and  he  had  every  reason  to 
dread  that  the  expedition  would  be  successful ;  and 
in  that  fort  were  his  wife  and  his  children  !  lie  Iieard 
the  Indians  talk  about  the  fort,  and  if  they  were 
aware  of  its  exposure  and  neglect,  they  would  be 
likely  to  mention  it.  All  this  made  a  fearful  conflict 
in  his  mind,  for  it  became,  of  all  things,  necessary 
Jiat  his  countenance  should  be  as  calm,  and  his  ap 
pearance  as  contented,  as  if  he  was  in  reality  that 
which  the  Indians  hoped  they  had  made  him  —  the 
Bon  of  old  Blackfish. 

He  had  to  do  more.  Instead  of  being  merely  a 
passive  spectator,  he  thought  it  wise  to  applaud  their 
war-dances,  and  smile  at  the  preparations  which  were 
making  to  murder  those  dearest  to  him.  He  determined 
to  risk  all  in  an  escape,  but,  unlike  lesser  minds,  lie 
made  no  false  step.  He  was,  to  all  appearance,  tJie 
brave,  changed   into  an  Indian.     The  least   unwary 

uovement,  at   this  juncture,   would    have  betrayed 
i* 


02  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

h'm,  and  he  summoned  all  his  faculties  for  the  flight 
So  completely  had  he  appeared  to  be  as  contented  aa 
usual,  without  any  difference  of  conduct  from  that 
manifested  before  he  went  to  the  Salt  Licks,  that  no 
opposition  was  manifested  to  his  taking  his  usual  hunt 
on  the  sixteenth  of  June.  He  arose  very  early.  The 
task  before  him  was  to  escape,  through  a  wilderness, 
from  four  hundred  and  fifty  infuriated  Indians ;  for 
Buch  they  certainly  would  be,  when  they  ascertained 
how  completely  they  had  been  deceived.  These  In- 
dians included  the  sagacious  warrior —  the  young  and 
hardy  brave — the  men  capable  of  all  that  men 
could  endure,  in  securing  a  quick  pasage  through 
the  woods.  He  knew  thoroughly  his  risk,  and  real- 
ized his  own  value.  He  saw  the  probabilities,  almost 
the  certainty,  that  a  horrible  death  would  signalize 
his  recapture.  So  that  morning  was  an  intense  hour. 
He  took  his  gun,  and  secreted  some  venison,  so  as  not 
to  be  entirely  without  food,  and  left  the  fierce  force 
behind  him.  If  a  situation  of  keener  interest  can  be 
found  in  the  annals  of  human  experience,  it  is  most 
rare.  Once  fairly  off,  he  felt  that  with  anything  like 
a  reasonable  time  gained,  his  knowledge  of  woodcraf 
was  equal  or  superior  to  that  of  the  Indian  ;  for  liis 
close  observation  of  him  had  convinced  him  of  the 
supremacy  of  the  white  man.  His  age  was  no^T 
forty-three,  and  he  knew  his  own  capacities  of  endii 
ranee.     The  race  was  for  life,  and  he  was  in  for  it. 


boone's  escape.  201 

He  very  snmrnanly,  in  lils  dictatcfl  narrative  tf 
Filson,  disposes  of  his  journey.  He  says  he  departed 
in  tlie  most  secret  manner,  on  the  sixteenth,  before 
sunrise,  and  arrived  at  Boonesborough  on  the  twen- 
tieth, during  which  he  had  but  one  meal. 

Peck,  deriving  his  information  from  Boone  and  oth- 
er reliable  sources,  states  particulars  which  are  of 
great  interest. 

The  distance  to  Boonesborough  exceeded  one  hundred 
and  sixty  miles,  which  he  traveled  in  less  than  five  days,  eat- 
ing  but  one  regular  meal  on  the  road,  which  was  a  turkey 
he  shot  after  crossing  the  Ohio  River.  Until  he  left  that 
river  behind  him,  his  anxiety  was  great.  He  knew  the  In 
dians  would  follow  him,  and  it  required  all  his  skill  and  tact, 
as  a  backwoodsman,  to  throw  them  off  the  trail.  His  route 
lay  through  forests,  swamps,  and  across  numerous  rivers. 
Every  sound  in  the  forest  struck  his  ear  as  the  signal  of  ap- 
proaching Indians.  He  was  not  an  expert  swimmer,  and  he 
anticipated  serious  difficulty  in  crossing  the  Ohio,  which,  at 
that  time,  from  continued  rains,  was  swollen,  and  was  run- 
ning with  a  strong  current.  On  reaching  its  banks,  he  had 
the  good  fortune  to  find  an  old  canoe,  which  had  floated  into 
the  bushes.  A  hole  was  in  one  end,  but  this  he  contrived 
to  stop,  and  it  bore  him  safely  to  the  Kentucky  side.  Hia 
ippearance  before  the  garrison  at  Boonesborough,  wa>9  like 
tne  risen  from  the  dead." 

Let  no  one  doubt  the  special  interposition  of  Prov- 
idence. That  old  canoe  that  floated  on  the  Ohio,  ap- 
parently of  all  things  most  useless,  had  in  it  a  trust, 


204:  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

in  which  the  happiness  of  a  great  State  was  deeply 
involved. 

That  journey  Boone  could  never  forget.  It  wag 
distinct  from  an  ordinary  escape.  It  was  of  a  naturo 
to  arouse  every  Indian  passion,  for  he  had,  as  they 
thought,  forfeited  the  adoption  they  had  made  of  him. 
lie  was  possessed  of  their  secrets,  and  had  receiv^ed, 
by  his  residence  among  them,  a  greatly  augmented 
power  to  injure  them. 

There  w^as  "  racing  and  chasing  "  in  old  Chillicothe 
camp,  when  the  Shawanese  Blackfish  discovered  that 
bis  adopted  son  had  lied.  To  rush  on  all  sides  to  dis- 
cover his  trail,  was  their  impulse,  and  the  fleetest 
foot  and  the  keenest  hunter  was  sent  after  him.  They 
immediately  suspected  his  route,  as  appears  by  their 
subsequent  conduct,  and  in  all  the  forest  towarda 
Boonesborough  the  enraged  Indian  was  found.  It  is 
quite  probable  that,  with  those  who  had  known  liim 
best,  there  was  as  much  of  grief  as  of  anger,  because 
he  would  not  have  received  from  them  such  treament 
and  such  confidence,  if  he  had  not  made  himself  loved 
and  respected.  As  he  had  been  suffered  to  hunt, 
their  suspicions  of  his  escape  would  not  have  been 
aroused  till  the  day  had  advanced  several  hours.  On 
this  Boone  had  formed  his  plan.  He  knew  how 
much  progress  he  could  make  by  the  daylight,  and 
that  an  attempt  to  get  off  in  the  night  might  have 
been  fatally  discovered. 


HE   REPAIRS   THE   FORT.  205 

Postponing  his  departure  till  about  the  usual  hour 
for  his  hunting,  made  the  action  an  ordinary  one,  aa 
it  would  have  been  supposed  that  had  he  intended  to 
escape,  the  night  would  have  been  chosen.  To  thos< 
few  hours  Boone,  by  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  owed  his 
escape.  They  enabled  him  to  put  such  a  distance  be- 
tween him  and  his  enemy,  that  he  could,  by  the  aria 
of  woodcraft,  in  which  the  country  held  no  superior 
to  him,  baffle  their  search  and  throw  them  oif  the 
trail.  It  was  one  of  the  most  memorable  passages  of 
his  life,  and  if  ever  man  earned  the  title  of  brave, 
he  did. 

He  came  upon  the  garrison  as  if  death  had  released 
him  from  its  bonds.  The  men  at  Boonesborough  be- 
lieved in  his  capture  and  in  their  own  safety.  He 
had  immediately  much  to  do.  From  the  loss  of  his 
wife  and  children,  while  the  grief  of  not  finding  them 
there  to  welcome  him  was  natural,  he  gathered  at 
once  the  great  consolation  that  they  were  safe,  and 
would  not  be  exposed  to  the  fearful  ordeal  through 
which  he  foresaw  his  fort  was  to  pass. 

There  was  enough  to  do.  Boone  proceeded  to  re- 
pair the  flanks,  strengthen  the  gates  and  posterns,  and 
to  form  double  bastions.  The  same  energy  which  had 
nabled  him  to  come  through  a  wilderness,  one  hun 
dred  and  sixty  miles,  in  less  than  five  days,  with  onu 
meal  —  scarcely  sleeping,  and  perpetually  in  alarm-— 
ivas  manifested  here;   and   in  ten  days  the  fort  at 


^06  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 


Boouesboroiigli  was  in  a  state  of  defence,  ready  foi 
the  siege  which  its  commander  knew  it  was  destined 
to  sustain.  It  had  survived  many  ordeals.  The 
woods  around  it  had  been  often  alive  with  the  savage . 
but  its  worst  blow  was  to  fall,  and  Boone  knew  that 
the  enemy  calculated  confidently  on  its  conquest. 
He  had  the  most  positive  personal  reasons  for  a  des- 
perate defence. 

Boone  had  heard  from  the  Indian  force.  Fortu- 
nately, one  of  those  who  had  been  held  prisoner  with 
him,  had  also  escaped,  as,  in  all  probability,  the  same 
watchfulness  was  not  bestowed  on  the  others  as  over 
Boone.  The  great  consequenctj  which  Boone  pos- 
sessed in  their  estimation,  was  at  once  shown.  His 
flight,  when  the  pursuers  returned,  weary  and  disap- 
pointed, from  their  vain  effort  to  recapture  him, 
changed  the  music  of  the  war  dance.  The  Grand 
Council  of  the  Nation  was  held.  It  was  debated 
whether  the  expedition  should  go  forward  —  for  the 
Indian  seems  to  have  had  complete  confidence  in 
Boone's  having  successfully  returned.  Indeed,  their 
Bpies  soon  related  to  them  the  changes  which  his  in- 
dustry and  activity  had  brought  about.  Tlie  fort  that 
they  expected  to  find  defenceless,  was  now  likely  to 
give  them  abundant  trouble.  Long  and  deep  was 
the  deliberation.  The  wise  men  checked  the  impa- 
tience of  tlie  young  men,  and  counseled  the  utmost 
accuracy  of  movement.     The  Indian,  in  the  escape 


EXPEDITION    TO   PAINT   CEEEK.  20'i 

of  Boone,  saw  that  the  white  man  could  foil  them  at 
their  own  weapons,  for  he  had  shown  a  dissimulation 
and  a  sagacity  entirely  beyond  all  that  they  could 
furnish  to  their  cause.  The  Pioneer  makes,  in  his 
narrative,  the  reflection  that  the  Indians  "  evidently 
saw  the  approaching  hour  when  the  Long  Knives 
would  dispossess  them  of  their  desirable  habitationa, 
and,  concerned  anxiously  for  futurity,  determined  utr 
terly  to  extirpate  the  whites  out  of  Kentucky."  This 
was  a  resolution  kindred  to  that  which  King  Philip 
made  in  reference  to  the  settlements  in  New  England. 
The  Indian  could  not  understand,  till  forced  to  do  so, 
that  his  cunning  and  cruelty  had  no  other  effect  than 
to  make  surer  and  speedier  his  ultimate  destruction. 
Boone  seems  to  have  been  renewed  in  vigor  after 
he  had  completed  the  fortifications  at  Boonesborough, 
for  he  no  longer  contented  himself  with  acting  on  the 
defensive.  It  was  expedient  to  strike  a  blow  which 
should  show  the  savages  that  if  their  expedition  pro- 
ceeded, it  would  have  enough  to  do.  Immediately 
on  the  ending  of  his  work  at  the  garrison,  he  took  a 
force  of  nineteen  men,  and  issued  forth  for  a  surprise 
against  a  small  town,  called  Paint  Creek,  up  the  Sci- 
oto. When  they  were  within  four  miles  of  their  des' 
tination,  they  discovered  a  party  of  Indians,  already 
on  their  way  to  attack  Boonesborough.  They  were 
to  join  the  great  body  who  came  on  from  Chillicothe. 
These  invaders  found  their  energies  put  in  requisition 


208  LIFE    OF    DAiilEL    BUUNE. 

Bomewhat  ahead  of  the  time  they  contemplated.  A 
tight  ensued  — Boone  calls  it  "  a  smart  fight  "  —  out 
Boone  and  his  nineteen  men,  though  the  scene  of  the 
battle  was  not  within  fort  or  fortrress,  proved  too 
many  for  the  thirty  savages.  It  was  not  a  very  bloody 
battle  on  either  side,  as  but  one  man  was  killed,  and 
two  wounded,  and  all  this  was  on  the  part  of  the  In- 
dians. Boone's  party  escaped  unhurt.  The  Indiana 
now  fled,  leaving  behind  them  all  their  baggage,  and 
three  horses.  The  Paint  Creek  town  was  in  solitude, 
the  Indians  having  all  deserted  it.  Boone  realized 
that  it  was  best  to  go  back  to  the  fort,  as  the  expedi- 
tion would  soon  be  there,  and  then  every  one  was 
.leeded  for  an  obstinate  defence. 

After  an  absence  of  seven  days,  they  were  again 
jafely  in  the  fort,  and  the  foray,  which  had  extended 
one  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  had  its  advantage.  It 
bhowed  the  bravery  of  the  garrison.  It  taught  the 
Indian  to  look  out  for  the  safety  of  his  own  home ; 
and  the  fact  that  Boone  and  his  party  had,  after  dis- 
covering in  their  march  the  main  body,  the  adroitness 
and  sagacity  to  get  around  them,  and  safely  secure 
the  protection  of  the  fort,  encouraged  the  heart  of  the 
garrison.  They  believed  they  could  conquer  an  ene- 
my  that  they  could  thus  outmanoeuvre. 

Boonesborough  had  now  to  encounter  the  most  for- 
midable force  that  had  ever  been  arraigned  against  it. 
It  aad  known  what  it  was  to  be  attacked  by  night  and 


TUE    INDIANS    AUKIVE    AT    THE    FORT.  20^ 

day  —  by  open  figat  and  by  stratagem  ;  but  never 
had  such  an  army  presented  itself  for  its  destruction 
as  was  now  marching  against  it. 

Boone's  own  narrative  states  that  the  invading  force 
arrived  on  the  eighth  of  August,  but  Peck  thinks  it 
is  proved  by  a  letter  written  by  Col  Bowman,  that  it 
was  not  till  the  eighth  of  September  ;  and  yet  the 
letter  of  Bowman  is  certainly  inaccurate  in  some  of 
its  statements,  and  may  be,  in  its  date. 

The  invaders  approached.  It  was  the  most  formi- 
dable of  all  the  expeditions  of  the  war.  The  Indiana 
were  arrayed  in  all  their  war  attire,  for  there  seems 
to  be  a  kindred  policy  in  all  barbarians.  When  the 
English  were  at  war  with  the  Chinese,  the  Oriental 
plan  of  campaigning  was  to  make  at  the  foe  the  most 
hideous  grimaces — throw  their  bodies  into  the  most 
violent  contortions,  and  give  the  loudest  exercise  to 
their  gongs.  So  the  Indian  relied  on  his  paint,  his 
fierce  face  made  up  of  vermillion,  and  whatever  other 
gaudy  hue  could  add  to  the  beauty  of  his  coj^per  color, 
— nor  less  on  the  war  whoop,  which  he  knew  was  par- 
ticularly frightful  to  the  unaccustomed  settler,  but  of 
which  the  pioneer  soon  knew  the  whole  force  was 
Bpent  in  empty  breath. 

Painted  and  caparisoned,  the  Indians  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  fort.  They  did  not  trust  entii-ely  to  theii 
own  skill,  but  had  placed  themselves  under  the  com« 
(nand  of  Capt.  Du  Ques-ne  a  name  of  importance  in 

14 


210  LIFE    OF   lAJ^IEL   BOUNE. 

the  annals  of  the  country,  and  which  was  that  cf  the 
fort  so  memorable  in  the  early  annals  of  "Washing 
ton's  military  career.  The  Indian  commander  was 
Blackfish,  who  had  thus  come  with  scalping-kuife  and 
tomahawk  to  look  after  his  adopted  son  —  evidently 
not  with  the  most  delicate  or  tender  of  paternal  feel- 
ing. Boone  knew  the  anxiety  of  his  Indian  father  to 
get  hold  of  him,  and  estimated  precisely  what  would 
be  his  family  welcome  ! 

The  Indians  were  four  hundred  and  forty-four  in 
number,  and  there  were  twelve  Canadians.  Du 
Quesne,  as  possessing  a  knowledge  of  military  tactics, 
was  the  leader,  in  fact,  though  Blackfish  had  com- 
mand, and  was  qualified  to  conduct  the  negotiations, 
as  possessing  the  knowledge  of  both  languages. 
Strange  to  say,  the  expedition,  while  it  summoned  the 
surrender  in  the  name  of  His  Britannic  Majesty, 
appeared  with  the  colors  of  France  flying,  as  well  as 
of  England.  As  there  existed  at  the  time  a  treaty  of 
alliance  between  France  and  the  United  States,  this 
was  a  strange  movement.  It  indicates  that  the  afi'air 
was  one  which,  although  under  the  general  campaign 
of  the  English,  was  a  sort  of  partnership  foray  between 
the  Indians  and  the  Canadians.  The  latter  had  so  ro- 
cently  been  under  the  dominion  of  the  French,  and 
were  so  identified  with  them  in  language,  manner  and 
association,  (as  even  to  this  day  such  a  large  popula- 
tion in  the  Eastern  Province  are,)  that  the  flag  of 


FOLICY  OF  THE  FRENCH  UOVEKNMENT.      212 

trance  seemed  their  own,  quite  as  much  as  did  tha* 
of  St.  George.  Tlie  great  work  of  Wolfe  had  bul 
partially  developed  itself. 

Tlie  French  Government  was  opposed  to  any  expe- 
dition hy  the  United  States  against  Canada.  The 
P^rench  minister  had  instructions,  before  leaving 
France,  to  oppose  any  such  plan,  and  the  French  de- 
sired that  Canada  and  ISTova  Scotia  should  remain  in 
the  possession  of  England.  So  says  Sparks ;  and 
these  incidents  illustrate  it.  The  reason  may  have 
been  that  the  government  believed  that  where  the 
French  habit  and  manner  remained  so  strongly,  there 
was  good  hope  that,  if  left  alone,  after  Great  Britain 
should  be  weakened  by  the  loss  of  the  Colonies,  the 
French  in  Canada  would  follow  their  example,  and 
come  back  to  the  dominion  of  the  nation  with  whom 
the  affections  of  such  great  numbers  of  their  popula- 
tion were  so  cemented.  Certainly,  the  French  flag 
was  a  strange  banner  to  float  over  an  expedition  whose 
object  was  to  regain  the  periled  and  lost  territory  of 
Great  Britain. 

There  were  about  sixty-five  men  in  the  garrison.  Al- 
though Boone's  family  had  gone,  there  were  others 
of  the  weak  and  defenceless  who  must  be  protected 
The  bravery  of  Boone  and  his  force,  and  the  strength 
of  the  log  fortification,  was  to  overcome  the  terrible 
odds  of  about  six  to  one.  Caj)t.  Du  Quesne  was  pre- 
sumed to  be  acquainted  with  the  art  of  war  as  well, 


212  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

and  in  all  j  robabilities  better,  than  were  the  pioneer? 
and  settlers  in  the  fort,  while  old  Blackfish  had  earned 
supremacy  among  the  Indians.  With  him  in  com- 
mand, the  garrison  could  expect  no  mercy.  Boone 
nad  forfeited  all  their  lenity.  His  presence  in  full 
command  of  the  garrison,  after  having,  for  months, 
been  in  their  power,  when  in  any  hour  they  might 
have  crushed  him,  was  a  bitter  triumph,  and  ono 
which  was  to  them  a  perpetual  reproach. 

The  influence  of  European  or  civilized  custom  was 
now  apparent.  Instead  of  a  tremendous  yell,  the 
first  process  was  the  summons  to  surrender,  above 
noted,  which  was  m^de  in  all  due  form  —  Boonesbo- 
rough  being  invited  to  place  itself  under  the  merciful 
care  of  four  hundred  and  forty-four  Indians  !  wild  for 
vengeance  on  the  Brave  who  had  successfully  eluded 
their  utmost  care.  The  twelve  Canadians  could  not 
have  turned  the  savages  aside  from  cruelty,  and  it  is 
hardly  probable,  in  the  extraordinary  military  policy 
of  the  day,  that  they  would  have  very  zealously  so 
endeavored. 

Boone  had,  from  the  hour  he  gained  the  sight  of 
the  fort,  when  he  escaped  from  Chillicothe,  delibera- 
ted as  to  all  that  was  necessary  to  the  full  defence  of 
the  station.  It  will  be  recollected  that,  by  his  know- 
ledge of  their  language,  he  was  in  fidl  possession  of 
all  tlieir  plans  —  their  alliances  —  and  knew  the  de- 
termination to  possess  themselves  of  this  garrison,  aa 


BOONE   IN   COMMAND. 


215 


the  boldest  and  greatest  ])\sLn  of  their  war.  In  all 
their  operations,  his  captivity  among  them  was  a  great 
feature,  inasmuch  as  they  knew  very  well  thatBoones- 
borough,  without  Daniel  Boone,  was  a  fortress  with 
Ite  greatest  protection  absent. 


CHAPTER   Xll. 

■OOin  OBTAINS   TWO    DAYS   TO    CONSIDER   THE    SUMMONS    TO    LCRRiNDHft  — 

HE    REFUSES  TO  SURRENDER FURTHER  NEGOTIATIONS  OUTSIDE  THE  FCRl 

TEEACHERT  OF   THE  INDIANS SQUIRE  BOONE  WOUNDED NINE  DAYS 

6IEOE     COMMENCES THE    INDIANS    RETREAT BOONE's     GREAT     8H0T- 

HIS    DAUGHTER THE   SIEGE     AND    THE    DEFENCE CAUSE     OF    KENTON's 

ABSENCE  —  BOONE     IS     TRIED    BY    COURT-MARTIAL,    AND    HONORABLY    AO 
QUITTED. 

When  Boone  had  escaped,  it  took  the  Indians  tliree 
weeks  to  recover  from  the  surprise.  Thej  had  to  re 
arrange  and  remodel  all  their  campaign.  They  had 
believed  that  they  were  sure  of  Boone.  His  being  a 
prisoner,  or  being  in  command  of  the  fort,  a  brave 
and  desperate  leader,  was  quite  a  different  affair.  Im- 
pressed with  tlie  belief  that  the  Indians  woukl  make 
their  boldest  endeavor  upon  Boonesborough,  he  had 
Bent  off  an  express  to  the  settlements  (as  the  eastern 
habitations  were  designated)  for  assistance.  The  re- 
quest was  addressed  to  Col.  Arthur  Campbell — whose 
name  proclaims  him  of  the  Highlander  settlers — and 
it  became  a  very  important  feature  in  his  movement8 
to  gain  time,  so  that  the  gallant  Campbell  could  reach 
him. 

Boone  says  that  when  the  summons  was  given,  "  it 


THE    GARRISON    SUMMONED.  215 

was  a  critical  point  with  iis.  We  were  a  small  num- 
ber in  the  garrison  —  a  pow^erful  army  before  our 
walls,  whose  appearance  proclaimed  inevitable  death 
—  fearfully  painted,  and  marking  their  footsteps  with 
desolation."  To  Boone,  who  knew  what  the  terror 
of  the  Indian  really  was,  the  language  was  but  cold 
truth.  He  demanded  two  days  in  which  he  might 
consider  the  proposal  to  surrender.  It  was  every 
thing  for  him  to  gain  these  two  days.  In  them,  Col. 
Campbell  or  his  men  might  make  their  appearance, 
and  the  enemy  find  the  woods  as  much  a  foe  as  the 
fort. 

It  seems  somewhat  surprising  that  Capt.  Du  Quesne 
and  Blackfish  agreed  to  the  two  days,  especially  as  in 
them  the  garrison  found  means  to  collect  their  horsea 
and  cattle,  and  bring  them  through  the  posterns  into 
the  fort.  Certainly,  if  court-martials  were  in  fashion 
among  the  Shawanese,  Blackfish  deserved  one  ;  or  if 
time  was  granted  by  Capt.  Du  Quesne,  his  general- 
ship deserves  the  same  review.  What  could  have 
induced  him  to  allow  the  garrison  to  provision  them- 
elves,  is  mysterious,  for  every  day's  provision  they 
btained  was  a  fearful  loss  to  tlie  besiegers. 
But  men  do  not  act  thus  without  a  reason.  Du 
Quesne  probably  thought  that  there  was  very  hard 
fighting  to  be  done  before  the  fort  could  be  conquered, 
and  if  he  could  win  it  by  negotiation,  it  would  sj^are 
his  force  a  severe  loss.     Else,  he  could  not  have  al 


216  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE 

Inwed  the  provisions  and  water  to  be  bronght  in,  foi 
the  females  were  actively  emj^lo}' ed  in  the  two  days  in 
bringing  water  from  the  spring.  Bowman  says,  that 
the  invaders,  as  soon  as  they  had  raised  their  flag 
called  for  Capt.  Boone.  They  knew  that  he  was  the 
strength  of  the  garrison,  and  thought  it  wisest  to  seek  to 
inveigle  or  persuade  him  first.  They  stated  the  terms 
of  peace  on  which  they  would  agree  to  a  capitulation. 
As  the  Indians  had  negotiated  with  Gen.  Clarke  at  the 
Illinois,  there  was  one  reason  to  believe  that  the  same 
sincerity  might  be  observed  here.  It  is  doubtful 
wliether  Boone,  who  knew  all  their  plans,  for  a  mo- 
ment believed  in  their  sincerity,but  time  was  every- 
thing, and  every  hour  gained  was  a  great  gain. 

It  seems,  however,  that  during  these  two  days  the 
truce  was  faithfully  kept,  else  tlie  cattle  could  not 
have  been  brought  in  so  safely.  Indeed,  Boone's  lan- 
guage justifies  this  belief.  Du  Quesne,  for  his  own 
reasons,  was  able  to  restrain  the  Indians ;  while  Boone 
never  so  far  placed  himself  in  their  power,  but  that 
he  could  seek  at  once  the  protection  of  the  walls. 
The  two  days  expired.  In  this  time  they  had  become 
quite  familiar  with  each  other,  and  Boone  observed 
many  of  those  with  whom  he  had  feigned  intimacy 
wliile  at  Chillicothe. 

All  being  prepared,  Boone  consulted  his  men 
whether  anything  like  a  capitulation  should  be  grant- 
ed.    The  conferenc'i  was  that  of  desperate  men.     He 


REFUSAL    TO    SURRENDER.  217 

Bt»t€6  that  death  was  prcferal)le  to  capti^i^ity,  for  lie 
well  I  new  that  Du  Quesne  could  not  prevent  the  In- 
diani^  from  cruelty.  The  determination  was  to  fight 
—  altliough  against  such  terrible  odds — and  Boone, 
who  I  new  that  he  had  the  deepest  stake  in  the  trans- 
action^ for  he  had  most  displeased  the  savage,  was 
probal  ly  the  first  to  insist  upon  holding  the  fortress 
to  the  last. 

Standing  on  one  of  the  bastions,  he  returned  the 
final  answer  of  the  garrison  to  the  captain,  who  trans- 
Lated  it  the  Indians.  He  said,  "  We  are  determined 
to  defend  our  fort  while  a  man  is  living."  Du  Quesne, 
with  the  courtesy  of  his  lineage,  stood  in  attentive  au- 
ditory of  what  Boone  was  saying.  Boone  was  also 
courteous,  and  talked  like  a  brave  man.  "  We 
laugh  at  all  your  formidable  preparations,  but  thank 
you  for  giving  us  notice  and  time  to  provide  for  our 
defence.  Your  eflforts  will  not  prevail,  for  our  gatea 
shall  forever  deny  you  admittance."  This  was  a 
longer  speech  than  usual  with  the  Pioneer.  The 
gratitude  expressed  for  the  time  and  opportunity  to 
provision  the  fort,  may  have  impressed  Du  Quesne  as 
ronical.  It  may  be  asked  here,  why,  if  Boone  took 
every  precaution,  this  provisioning  was  not  before  ac- 
complished. The  expedition  "^o  Paint  Creek  may 
have  been  the  solution,  since  it  was  his  bold  policy 
to  strike  a  blow,  while  the  Indian  Duly  thought  him 

preparing  to  receive  one. 

T 


21 S 


LIFE   OF  DAJqiEL    ROONF. 


"Boone  qiiefitions  whether  his  lan^ua^e  did  not  affect 
the  courage  of  the  invaders.  It  may  have  fully 
aroused  them  to  the  idea  of  what  folly  had  been 
theirs  in  allowing  the  garrison  this  time.  ]^oonQ 
thought  they  would  immediately  begin  the  siege,  but 
the  Frenchman  had  not  quite  exhausted  his  diploma 
cy.  It  is  quite  likely  that  Boone's  vigor  in  getting 
ready  had  taught  him  what  a  formidable  task  was  be- 
fore him.  The  next  move  made  by  Du  Quesne  was 
to  communicate  the  instructions  of  Gov.  Hamilton, 
who  was  in  command  of  Detroit,  which,  he  said,  were 
to  take  the  garrison  captive,  but  not  to  destroy  it,  and 
he  requested  that  the  garrison  would  send  out  nine 
of  their  chosen  men  to  make  a  treaty,  which,  if  done, 
the  forces  would  be  immediately  withdrawn  from  un- 
der the  walls," and  the  Indians  and  Canadians  would 
return  home  peaceably.  Boone  says,  "  this  sounded 
grateful  to  our  ears,  and  we  agreed  to  the  proposal." 

Why  did  Boone  accede  to  this  proposal  ?  He  had 
every  reason  to  believe  in  the  cruel  and  desperate 
character  of  the  foe.  He  had  insulted  and  mortified 
them  by  his  escape,  and  he  could  not  but  see  that 
every  thing  in  the  case  looked  very  unlike  a  peace  or 
an  agreement.  The  solution  of  all  tliis  may  have 
been,  that  in  the  use  of  Gov.  Hamilton's  name,  Dn 
Quesne  struck  a  cord  which  vibrated.  Boone  knew 
the  kindly  feelings  of  the  governo^  towards  him.  It 
had  shown  itself  at  Detroit  in  a  mauier  in  whicb 


THE  CONFERENCE.  219 

there  was  no  treachery  or  deceit,  and  if  Hamilton  l:ac 
been  allowed  to  follow  the  dictates  of  his  own  heart, 
Boone  would  not  have  been  taken  to  Chillicotho^ 
but  would  have  been  honorably  discharged  from 
captivity. 

Boone  consulted  his  friends.  Gov.  Hamilton' 
name  went  far  with  him,  and,  at  last,  the  selected 
nine  went  out.  These  were,  among  others,  (and  cf 
course  Boone  was  at  their  head,)  his  brother,  Flan- 
ders, Callaway,  Stephen  and  William  Hancock.  To 
withdraw  from  the  interior  of  the  fort  these  men  of 
mark,  certainly  seems  to  have  been  very  unwise,  but 
it  is  to  be  considered  that  Boone  knew  just  what  his 
men  could  do,  and  he  knew  well  —  accustomed  as  he 
was  to  the  Indian  —  that  the  chances  were  greatly  in 
favor  of  a  safe  retreat  to  the  fort  in  any  event.  Those 
who  had  lived  to  old  age,  who  had  mingled  in  tliis 
affair,  declared  that  they  knew  their  strength  and  felt 
confident  of  success.  They  knew  how  strong  and  ac- 
tive they  were,  and  from  what  Du  Quesne  had  already 
lost  by  folly,  they  had  no  very  great  fear  of  him. 

They  met  in  front  of  the  fort,  about  one  hur:  d.'-ed 
and  twenty  feet  from  the  walls  —  space  enough  for  a 
party  to  cut  them  off,  but  this  had  not  been  forgotten. 
The  sure  riflemen  of  Boone's  force  were  in  such  posi- 
tion as  to  give  them  the  power  at  once  to  pour  in 
6uch  a  fire  as  should  prevent  a  surprise.  The  table 
of   this    conference    was    spread    at   the  Lick  —  so 


220  lAFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONB. 

Bowman  sajs  —  and  the  negotiation  began,  watched 
by  rifle  and  by  tomahawk  in  every  minute  of  its 
progress. 

Boone's  language  is  peculiar.  "  We  heid  the  treaty 
within  sixty  yards  of  the  garrison,  on  purpose  to  di- 
vert them  from  a  breacli  of  honor,  as  we  could  no 
avoid  suspicion  of  the  savages."  They  were  to  be  di- 
verted by  a  sufficiency  of  good  rifles  within  fair  dis- 
tance. He  does  not  suspect  the  Canadian,  because 
he  knew  how  difi*erently  honor  was  estimated  by  sav- 
age and  by  soldier.  The  captain  offered  his  terms, 
and  they  were  very  liberal,  yet  tliey  contained  the 
extraordinary  proposition  that  the  oatli  of  allegiance 
should  be  taken  to  George  III.,  and  a  submission  made 
to  the  Canadian  authorities.  Doing  this,  they  were 
to  be  allowed  to  go  with  perfect  freedom  and  take  all 
their  property.  All  this  was  too  much,  and  Boone 
understood  it.  He  knew  that  four  hundred  and  fifty 
savages,  who  had  been  preparing  for  weeks  and 
montlis  for  this  expedition,  did  not  come  in  all  the 
panoply  of  war  to  end  by  a  signature  of  a  paper 
whicli  they  did  not  comprehend,  and  concerning 
which  they  did  not  care.  They  needed  to  gratify 
their  vengeance  —  the  captive  at  the  stake,  and  tlie 
trophies  of  scalps.  They  did  not  intend  that  Boono 
Bliould  go  unscathed  again,  and  he  knew  all  this.  He 
negotiated,  and  signed,  and  diplomatised,  to  gain 
time.     Col.  Campbell's  troops  might,  at  any  moment 


TREACIIEKY    OF    THE    INDIANS.  221 

make  their  appearance,  for  the  express  sent  had  been 
told  of  tlie  extremity  of  thie  danger.  Boone  and  hia 
felh)\v-coinmi8sioners  from  the  garrison  signed  the 
proposed  treaty,  curious  to  know  what  was  to  come 
next.  But  if  Boone  had  not  had  cause  to  suspect  the 
whole  thing  a  fraud  and  a  decoy,  his  act  in  signing 
the  treaty  might  have  been  considered  a  desperate 
one,  rendered  under  the  possession  of  a  force  exceed- 
ing by  many  times  his  own.  But  the  first  explana- 
tion is  sufficient.  He  knew  his  men,  and  when,  after 
the  treaty  was  finished,  his  father  by  adoption  —  Old 
Blackfish  —  arose,  and  commenced  a  speech,  he  knew 
the  play  had  another  act.  Boone  had  relied  on  the 
presence  of  his  good  rifles,  as  the  whole  afifair  was 
within  cover  of  their  fire.  They  were  such  shots  aa 
upon  them  he  could  rely.  The  Indians  now  stepped 
into  the  front.  As  Du  Quesne  had  been  the  paper 
and  pen  negotiator,  their  part  was  to  come,  and  they 
soon  avouched  it. 

As  became  those  who  were  engaged  in  the  forma 
tion  of  a  treaty,  neither  had  arms.  It  being  an  aft'aii 
of  peace,  the  outward  appearances  were  consulted. 
The  Indians,  in  their  figurative  language,  declareu 
that  this  was  a  negotiation  between  twc  great  ar- 
mies, and  there  should  be  evidence  Ox'  entire  friend- 
ship. It  was  customary  among  them,  they  said,  on 
Buch  occasions,  for  two  Indians  to  shake  hands  with 
every  white  man.     I^ow  this  w^as  a  scheme  so  trans 


222  LIFE   OF   DAI^IEL   BuuNE. 

parent  that  it  must  have  been  at  once  perceived,  in 
all  its  intention,  hj  Boone  and  the  hardy  men  at  hia 
side.  Tliey  consented,  and  the  grasp  was  given  — 
the  cowardly  savages  having  calculated  that  if  each 
white  man  could  be  brought  into  contact  with  two 
Indians,  the  surprise  would  succeed.  They  mistook 
their  men.  Tliese  stalwart  frontier  pioneers  and  hunt 
ers  were  not  easily  captured.  They  were  on  their 
guard,  and  knew  what  each  one  could  do.  Of  course^ 
the  exigency  was  one  of  desperation,  and  civilized 
men  concentrate  their  energies  tremendously  in  such 
cases.  Bowman  relates  that  Blackfish,  after  his  long 
speech,  uttered  as  a  signal,  the  word  "  6^0,"  and  that 
a  signal  gun  was  fired.  If  he  is  right  in  this,  the  pre- 
concert of  the  whole  affair  is  seen  at  once  —  "  the  In- 
dians, fastened  on  them,  were  to  take  them  off."  Ths 
white  men  hegan  to  dispute  the  matter^  though  un- 
armed, and  broke  loose  from  them,  though  there  were 
two  or  three  Indians  to  one  white  man.  It  w^as  the 
signal  for  a  general  firing — Boone's  party  endeavor- 
ing to  protect  them  from  the  savages,  while  the  In- 
dians poured  in  to  assist  their  plot.  Guns,  by  hun 
dreds,  were  fired,  but  they  all  escaped  into  the  for^ 
and  closed  and  barricaded  the  heavy  gates  behind 
them  ;  all  safe  but  Squire  Boone,  that  brave  brother, 
who  was  wounded.  Never  did  nine  men  escape  from 
8  ich  crisis  of  peril. 
The  treaty  was  forgotten,  or  made  into  wadding 


THE    SIEGE   BEGUK    US'    EAlixNEST,  lJ23 

The  besiegers  had  lost  character  and  time.  Boone 
and  his  company  had  showed  the  savages,  at  the  be- 
ginning, of  wliat  lion-hearted  courage  they  were  made 
up.  This  display  was  of  the  very  kind  to  intimidate 
the  Indian.  Any  such  exercise  of  great  personal 
strength  told  upon  the  savage  with  a  force  beyond 
any  other  species  of  reasoning. 

Du  Quesne  and  Blacklish  now  began  the  siege  in 
earnest.  They  had  a  force  that  could  pour  into  the 
fort  a  power  of  ammunition,  that  if  a  white  man  pre- 
sented himself  within  range  must  be  fatal.  The  siege 
lasted  nine  days  and  nights,  for  the  invader  was  in 
number  sufficient  to  take  alternate  watches.  It  is 
easy  for  us  to  give  these  details  to  the  page,  or  to  pe- 
ruse them,  but  the  reality  of  that  tight  never  could  be 
effaced  from  the  memory  of  those  who  participated  in 
it.  It  was  one  of  the  most  heroic  of  that  series  of 
struggles  which  gave  to  Kentucky  such  bloody  ad- 
mission into  the  family  of  nations.  A  few  gallant 
men,  trained  in  a  forest  school,  were  shut  up  in  a 
feeble  fort,  which,  if  the  enemy  had  possessed  artil- 
lery or  scaling  ladders,  might  have  been  knocked  to 
pieces  or  covered  with  men.  They  had  around  them 
those  whose  life  was  dearer  than  their  own.  The 
balls  fell  like  rain,  and  there  was  no  hour  for  rest. 
It  needed  such  a  scene  to  illustrate  the  energy  of  the 
great  Pioneer's  character.  His  conduct  on  this  occa- 
bIop  shows  him  entitled  to  rank  among  the  bravesl 


warrioi-s  of  our  country.  Indeed,  Boone  personally 
enacted  an  heroism  immeasurably  superior  to  that  of 
many  to  whom  history  assigns  the  laurel.  Alone  ol 
at  the  head  of  his  men,  he  was  ever  the  Lrave  man, 
content  to  do  his  duty  under  every  form  or  circum- 
stance of  peril. 

The  men  at  the  fort  fired  when  they  could  hit, 
while  the  savages  seem  to  have  fired  away,  as  con- 
scious of  a  full  treasury  of  powder  and  lead  on  which 
they  could  rely.  Boone  says :  "  After  they  were  gone 
we  picked  up  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds  of 
bullets,  besides  what  stuck  in  the  logs  of  our  fort — ■ 
which  certamly  is  a  great  jproof  of  their  indtistry  !  " 
It  was  a  great  proof  of  the  fact  that  the  Indian  knew, 
by  fatal  experience,  that  if  he  showed  himself  within 
range  he  was  destined  to  know  the  accuracy  of  a  Ken- 
tuckian's  aim.  Tlie  picture  of  the  old  fort,  so  accu- 
rately given  in  Collin's  Kentucky,  from  a  sketch  by 
Col.  Henderson,  shows  near  it  a  belt  of  woods.  These 
probably  sheltered  the  savages,  who  blazed  away  im- 
potently,  only  at  rare  intervals  doing  any  injury, 
The  defenders  lost  two  men,  and  there  were  four 
wounded.  Of  this  loss,  one  of  the  killed  and  one  of 
the  wounded  was  in  consequence  of  a  desertion  from 
the  fort,  of  a  negro,  who  had  a  ca^^ital  rifle,  and  also 
had  been  trained  to  do  execution  with  it,  as  was  the 
education  of  all  those  in  the  fort,  lie  got  into  a  tree, 
and  having  a  good  aim,  was  soon  one  of  the  most  sue- 


boune's  daughter  woui^ded.  225 

cessfiil  of  tlie  assailants.  Boone  found  this  out 
watched  him,  and  when  he  saw  his  head,  fired.  The 
man  was  found  after  the  battle  —  a  ball  in  his  head  — 
the  shot  being  made  at  the  distance  of  one  hundred 
and  seventy-five  yards  —  five  hundred  and  twenty -five 
feet.  In  all  his  best  days  Leather  Stocking  never  sur 
passed  this.  The  Indian  felt  Boone  in  every  hour  of 
t^e  siege. 

Ont  of  Boone's  daughters  remained  in  the  fort. 
Why  she  did  not  accompany  her  mother  in  the  re- 
turn to  North  Carolina,  is  not  from  the  records  appa- 
rent ;  but  as  it  was  with  her,  when  married  to  Mr. 
Callaway,  that  he  in  his  old  age  resided,  it  may  be 
that  her  attachment  to  her  father  was  so  great  that 
she  preferred  the  perils  of  the  fort  rather  thau  to  be 
separated  from  him.     She  was  a  noble  girl  -  ^ 

"  Of  such  a  sire,  desceBdant  true." 

She  labored  in  the  defence  as  zealously  as  her  strength 
permitted,  and  was  of  those  who  supplied  the  ammu- 
nition. She  was  wounded,  and  when  the  annals  of 
the  heroic  women  of  America  are  written,  her  name 
deserves  conspicuous  place.  The  Indians  tried  that 
by  which  they  had  often  won  horrible  passage  to  the 
dwelling  of  the  white  man.  They  threw  fire  on  the 
fort  and  it  took  !  —  and  for  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  the 
fated  hour  .^or  Boonesborough  had  come.  There  wag 
no  time  for  thought  At  all  risk  the  fire  must  be  ex- 
J*  15 


226  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

tingiushed,  and  by  the  boldness  and  bravery  of  one 
young  man,  who  risked  and  dared  all  the  storm  of 
balls,  the  impending  danger  was  averted.  All  these 
things  disheartened  the  Indians,  for  they  had  no  re- 
course beyond  the  immediate  act,  and  when  in  the 
conflict  of  physical  strength  they  were  overcome, 
they  could  see  no  recourse  but  flight;  fcr,  notwith- 
standing all  that  is  said  of  their  bravery,  the  Indian 
was  quite  ready  to  recognize  that  there  is  a  time  to 
run.  Bowman  says  the  fire  was  kept  up  during  all 
the  siege  without  intermission  ;  but  this  must  be  some- 
what figurative,  as  during  nine  days  and  nights,  if 
the  battle  had  not  sometimes  wavered  or  ceased,  the 
physical  endurance  of  the  garrison  must  have  failed. 

Boone  relates  one  of  the  best  tactics  of  the  be- 
siegers. "  The  enemy  begun  to  undermine  our  fort, 
which  was  situated  fifty  yards  from  Kentucky  River. 
They  began  at  the  water  mark,  and  proceeded  in  the 
bank  some  distance,  which  we  understood  by  their 
making  the  water  muddy  with  the  clay ;  and  we  im- 
mediately proceeded  to  disappoint  their  design  by 
cutting  a  trench  across  their  subterranean  passage. 
The  enemy  discovering  our  countermine,  by  the  clay 
we  threw  out  of  the  fort,  desisted  from  that  stratagemc' 

This  device  was  too  good  to  have  been  suggested 
by  the  Indians.  It  was  a  point  in  civilized  warfore, 
and  was  probably  counseled  by  Du  Quesne  ;  but  he 
forgot  that  the  Pioneer  had  not  been  an  inatteative 


TU^    INDIANS    KAISE   THE   SIEGE.  221 

DDserver  of  whatever  of  war  and  its  incidents  he  liad 
witnessed  at  Detroit.  The  digging  was  too  hard  work 
for  the  Indian,  and  so  far  as  he  participated  in  it,  lie 
was  doubtless  quite  willing  to  discontinue  the  labor. 

Experience,  Boone  says,  fully  convinced  them  that 
neither  their  power  nor  their  policy  could  effect  their 
purpose.  On  the  twentieth  day  of  August,  (Mr. 
Peck  says,  twentieth  of  September,)  they  raised  the 
siege  and  departed. 

This  was  a  great  siege.  It  is  one  of  the  most  mem- 
orable  pages  in  our  military  history.  While  other 
and  minor  affairs  have  placed  their  chief  actors  hio-b 
in  fame,  the  siege  of  Boonesborough,  sustained  for 
nine  days  — four  hundred  men  against  fifty  —  in  a 
wild  country  —  against  a  selected  band  of  Indian 
warriors  —  has  been  comparatively  forgotten.  It  re- 
sembles the  desperate  battles  of  the  Old  World,  and 
had  it  occurred  in  Europe,  no  honors  or  reward  would 
liave  been  too  great  for  the  bold  defender.  Boone 
was  not  the  man  to  make  conspicuous  his  own 
achievements. 

Boone  and  others  who  survived,  in  their  old  days 
Bpoke  with  gratitude  of  their  preservation.  He  was 
the  man  to  remember,  as  brave  men  do,  who  had  been 
the  defender  of  the  oppressed. 

In  this  repulse  of  the  savage,  Boone  felt  the  absence 
of  one  of  his  boldest  and  bravest  men  —  one  ^hose 
courage  and  skill  would  have  made  themselves  visible 


228  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

to  the  discomfiture  of  the  enemy.  Sim  m  Kenton 
was  not  a  man  to  be  willingly  away  from  such  a 
scene.  His  absence  was  owing  to  the  following  cir 
cumstances : 

"  Kenton  finding  Boone  about  to  undertake  aii  expedition 
against  a  small  town  on  Paint  Creek,  readily  joined  him. 
Inaction  was  irksome  to  the  hardy  youth  in  such  stirring 
times  ;  besides  he  had  some  melan*  holy  reflections  that  he 
could  only  escape  from  in  the  excite-ment  of  danger  and  ad- 
venture. The  party,  consisting  of  nineteen  men,  and  com- 
manded by  Boone,  arrived  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  In- 
dian village.  Kenton,  who  as  usual  was  in  advance,  was 
startled  by  hearing  loud  peals  of  laughter  from  a  cane-brake 
just  before  him.  He  scarcely  had  time  to  tree  before  two 
Indians,  mounted  upon  a  small  pony,  one  facing  the  animal's 
tail,  and  the  other  his  head,  totally  unsuspicious  of  danger 
and  in  excellent  spirits,  made  their  appearance.  He  pulled 
trigger  and  both  Indians  fell,  one  killed  and  the  other  se- 
verely wounded.  He  hastened  up  to  scalp  his  adversaries, 
and  was  immediately  surrounded  by  about  forty  Indians. 
His  situation,  dodging  from  tree  to  tree,  was  uncomfortable 
enough,  until  Boone  and  his  party  coming  up,  furiously  at- 
tiicked,  and  defeated  the  savages.  Boone  immediately  re- 
turned to  the  succor  of  his  fort,  havmg  ascertained  that  a 
large  war  party  had  gone  agahist  it.  Kenton  and  Montgom- 
ery, however  resolved  to  proceed  to  the  village  to  get  "  a 
shot,"  ar.u  steal  horses.  They  lay  within  good  rifle  distance 
of  *-he  village  for  two  days  and  a  night,  without  seeing  a 
single  warrior ;  on  the  second  night  they  each  mounted  a  fine 
horse,  and  put  off*  to  Kentucky,  and  the  day  after  the  In- 
dians  raised  the  siege  of  Boonesborough,  they  cantered  iut^ 
Jie  fort  on  their  stolen  property." —  Collins''  Keiitucky. 


CHAGRIN    OF   THE   INDIANS.  22 Jr 

This  siege  ciilmiT-inted  tlie  niilitarv  h.storj  <4 
Boonesboroiigh.  It  was  the  last  attack  it  snstaijied^ 
and  it  was  fairly  entitled  to  the  title  of  the  Imprefr. 
nable.  Boonesboroiigh  now  is  a  small  village,  and 
yet  it  will  always  remain,  in  the  history  of  Kentucky 
and  of  the  country,  a  classical  locality.  In  later  days 
the  voice  of  eloquence  has  made  the  scenes  of  the 
Hunter  and  the  Warrior  live  again.  Senator  More- 
head,  distinguished  for  his  intellect  in  a  land  where 
such  men  as  Clay,  and  Crittenden,  and  Breckenridge 
lived,  delivered,  in  1840,  an  address  in  commemora- 
tion of  the  historical  incidents  of  the  place,  which  is 
of  the  most  valuable  contributions  to  our  annals. 
Kentucky  owes  it  to  itself  to  build,  at  the  site  of  the 
fort,  a  monument,  worthy  in  its  magnitude  of  the 
place  where  brave  men  laid  the  corner  stone  on  which 
the  great  edifice  of  the  State  has  been  so  successfully 
reared. 

After  the  siege  was  over,  the  Indians  dispersed. 
They  felt  the  deepest  chagrin  that  they  could  not 
have  secured  Boone.  He  was  the  noblest  prisoner 
they  had  ever  secured,  and  twice  he  had  successfully 
escaped.  He  had  crossed  river  and  swamp  —  en- 
dured hunger  and  every  privation  —  and  after  such  a 
narch  as  would  have  done  honor  to  their  best  war- 
rior, had  disappointed  all  their  hope  of  taking  the 
fortress.     They  had  lost  the  leader,  and  not  gained 


230  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

flic  or-arrison.     Boone   liencefortli  was  a  memorable 
word  in  Indian  tradition.  % 

Their  loss  was  heavy.  The  fire  from  the  fort  killed 
thh'tj-seven,  and  wounded  a  great  number.  When 
they  left,  they  went  in  different  parties  to  the  several 
forts,  and  waylaid  the  hunters.  It  is  quite  probable 
that,  had  they  been  successful  at  Boonesborough.  tlie 
A-merican  cause  would  have  suffered  greatly,  for  it 
would  have  been  complete  encouragement  to  the 
British  to  sustain  tlie  alliance  with  tlie  Indians  at  any 
Cost. 

Curiously  —  certainly  it  would  be  curious  if  histo- 
ry did  not  show  so  many  similar  instances —  the  hon- 
or that  first  awaited  this  brave  soldier,  who  had  con- 
ducted himself  with  a  valor  worthy  tlie  plaudit  of  a 
nation,  was  a  —  Court-Martial !  We  have  had  illus- 
trations in  our  own  day  of  heroism  and  consummate 
military  skill,  receiving  the  same  reward.  Four 
charges  were  made  against  him  —  the  first  concerning 
the  capture  of  the  salt-makers  at  Blue  Licks ;  the 
second,  a  very  singular  one  —  "manifesting  friendly 
feelings  towards  the  Indians  while  a  prisoner,  and  of- 
fering to  surrender  Boonesborough,  have  the  peoi)le 
removed  to  Detroit,  and  live  under  British  protection 
and  jurisdiction"  —  taking  ofi'  a  party  of  men  from 
Boonesborough,  in  his  expedition  to  Scioto,  and  thus 
weakening  the  garrison,  when  he  had  reason  to  be- 
lieve the  Indians  were  about  to  invade  the  fort  —  and 


BOONE    TRIED   BY    COURT-MARTIAL. 


231 


at  the  siege  of  Eooneshoroiigli,  heing  willing  to  talse 
the  officers  to  the  Indian  camp,  and  tlnis  endangering 
the  garrison. 

It  mnst  be  that  this  court  was  called  by  his  friends^ 
to  give  him  an  opportunity  to  show  to  the  world  the 
consummate  skill  with  which  he  had  conducted  him- 
self in  the  most  intensely  precarious  positions.  Of 
the  most  honorable  result  of  this  trial,  mention  has 
before  been  made.  Mr.  Peck  says  :  "After  a  full  in- 
vestigation he  was  acquitted  honorably,  and  the  con- 
fidence of  the  people  in  his  patriotsm  and  sagacity 
confirmed  and  increased."  The  reader  who  lias  care- 
fully noted  the  conduct  of  the  Pioneer,  will  realize 
how  truly  he  deserved  the  gratitude  of  his  country 
for  his  wisdom  and  bravery  in  all  these  situations. 


CHAPTEE   XIII. 

ftUeULTS     OF   THE    TTAR A    RETROSPECT BOONE    VISITS     HIS     FAMILY     IB 

NORTH    CAROLINA  ^EMIGRATION  TO  THE  WEST  INCREASES LAND  OFFlOl 

ESTABLISHED COMMISSIONERS  TO  SETTLE  SOLDIERs'  LAND  CLAIMS GOV. 

SHELBY GREAT  ACTIVITY  IN  THE  SURVEYING  OF  LAND BOONE  IS  ROBBED 

OF    A    LARGE  SUM    OF    MONEY ITS    EFFECT  ON    BOONE THE  LAND  LAW. 

♦The  year  ITTS,  like  every  other  year  of  the  Tte- 
volutionary  period,  was  one  of  alarm.  The  great 
power  against  wliich  the  colonists  were  forced  to  con- 
tend, spread  its  attacks  and  aggressions  thronghont  all 
the  land,  and  the  Indian  was  relied  npon  as  one  of 
the  most  efficient  means  of  delaying  the  progress  of 
the  frontier  towards  the  arts  and  power  of  civilization. 
While  the  settlers  were  in  all  the  distress  that  their 
neighborhood  to  a  savage  foe  could  produce,  the  army 
at  Valley  Forge  were  enduring  all  the  trials  and  pri- 
vations, wliich  have  made  the  name  of  their  residence 
Badly  famous  in  our  history.  From  the  ordeal  of 
Buch  sorrows,  freedom  .rose  in  all  its  strength.  Their 
Buflering  gave  purity  and  firmness  to  their  principles. 
While  the  battles  of  the  Atlantic  States  are  en- 
Bhrined  in  the  annals  of  the  country,  and  those  by 
whose  valor  they  were  won,  have  been  immortalized, 
the   brave  men  whose  courage  was  as  conspicuous 


A   RETROSPECT.  23 J 

and  whose  trial  was  fiir  more  severe,  lia^o  been,  in 
great  measure,  rejected  ;  and  jet,  an  authority  so  high 
as  that  of  Gov.  Morehead,  says  Boone's  triumph  saved 
the  frontier  from  depopulation.  The  Indian  felt  that 
^le  West  was  especially  his  own  battle  ground,  and 
he  yielded  the  possession  of  his  hunting  ground,  only 
after  he  had  exhausted  all  the  means  of  defense  and 
attack  of  which  he  was  capable.  When  he  found, 
just  before  the  commencement  of  the  Eevolution. 
that  the  mountains,  behind  which  were  his  cherished 
hunting  grounds,  had  been  overcome,  impregnable  as 
he  had  believed  they  were,  by  the  bold  adventure 
of  such  men  as  Boone  and  Finley,  he  thought  himself 
able  to  drive  out  or  crush  the  invader  by  a  foray  ; 
but  as  the  strength  of  the  settler  developed,  he  saw 
his  increasing  danger,  and  felt  how  powerful  was  his 
foe.  The  quarrel  between  the  Colonies  and  the  Brit- 
ish, brought  to  his  aid  the  treasury  and  arsenals  of 
the  Englisli,  and,  aided  by  these,  he  believed  lie 
would  soon  possess  the  power  to  exterminate  the  pio- 
neer. Hence,  the  fight  at  Boonesborough  and  the 
long  series  of  attacks  of  which  it  was  the  principal. 
Tlie  Indian  fought  for  existence,  and  fought  hard 
When  Boone  has  finished  his  relation  of  the  sie^e 
of  Boonesborough,  he  dismisses  a  period  in  his  life  as 
though  it  were  bui  of  smal]  moment :  "  Soon  after 
this,  I  went  into  the  settlement,  and  nothing  worthy 
of  a  place   in  tl\is  account,  passed  in  my  aflairs  foi 


234:  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

some  time."     However  unworthy  of  being  included 
in  his  history  Boone  may  have  considered  the  events 
of  the  ensuing  time,  the  labors  of  faithful  histc  rians 
have  enabled  readers  to  judge  for  themselves,  and  it 
will  be  seen  that  the  review  is  of  interest.     Probably 
because  it  was  of  an  embarrassing  and  unpleasant  na 
ture,  Boone   avoided  the  dictation    to  Filson,  of  s( 
much  of  his  life.    It  suffices  him  to  tell,  in  a  few  word* 
the  story  of  his  domestic  life  :     "  Shortly  after  the 
troubles  at  Boonesborough,  I  went  to  my  family,  and 
lived   peaceably  there.     The   history  of    my   going 
home,  and  returning  with  my  family,  forms  a  series 
of  difficulties,  an  account  of  which  would  swell  a  vol- 
ume, and  being  foreign  to  my  purpose,  I  omit  them." 
It  was  a  wise  remark  of  John  Quincy  Adams,  that 
posterity  is  always  anxious  for  detail;    and  in  this 
case  of  the  life  of  a  man  who  was  so  truly  one  of 
the  founders  of  Empire,  the  world  would  ])e  glad  to 
know  all  that    illustrates   his    character."     If  Boone 
had  left  a  more  extended  record  of    all  his  life,  it 
would  have  been    one  of  the  most   valuable  of   all 
contributions  to  the  history  of  his  country.     There  is, 
however,  a  modesty  and  dignity  in  the  unwillingness 
to  bring  himself  personally  before  the  world,  which 
is  coincident  with  what  Boone  really  was.     He  con- 
Bidercd  that  if  his  narrative  illustrated  the  manner 
in  which  his  beloved  Kentucky  was  brought  from  the 
forest  to  be  the  abode  of  a  noble  people,  it  was  rig-ht 


THE   VICISSITUDES    OF   BOONe's   LIFE.  235 

that  he  should  give  it ;  hut  as  to  malving  liimself  tlie 
hero  of  the  story,  the  recital  shows  that  he  did  not 
intend  this  ;  for  had  he  so  intended,  he  would  have 
told  the  tale  of  his  fierce  fighting,  with  all  the  par- 
ticulars, for  which,  in  most  men's  personal  narratives, 
we  are  not  compelled  to  search. 

When  Boone  returned  to  the  Carolinas,  he  recol 
lected  with  what  strange  vicissitudes  his  life  had  been 
marked  since  he,  with  that  gallant  and  hopeful  com- 
pany —  gathered  by  the  magic  of  the  bright  narra- 
tions he  had  given  of  the  glowing  fertility  of  the  Ken- 
tucky country — had  essayed  their  path  across  the 
mountains.  His  son  had  been  the  first  victim.  Since 
that  loss,  his  own  life  had  been  suspended  under  the 
impending  blow  of  Indian  cruelty.  He  had  borne 
the  chief  part  in  a  siege,  for  the  dangers  of  which  the 
annals  of  the  country  show  but  few  parallels.  Every- 
wdiere  war  had  been  about  him,  and,  peaceable  and 
mild  as  he  was,  he  had  been  compelled  to  make  his 
rifle  his  hourly  companion.  He  had  deserved  to  be, 
if  he  was  not,  since  he  left  the  Yadkin,  one  of  those 
whose  names  are  on  the  voice  of  men,  as  eminent  and 
honorable. 

The  wild  scenes  of  his  Chillicothian  captiv'ty  could 
not  be  effaced  from  memory.  That  for  weeks  and 
months  he  had  been  held  in  the  toils  of  the  savage  — 
with  each  sun  rising  upon  his  most  uncertain  destiny 
—  his  life  completely  in  their  power  —  that  all  this 


836  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

filiould  have  been  changed  in  a  few  days  to  the  extra- 
ordinary position  of  being  the  leader  of  a  fortress  sus- 
taining a  fierce  seige,  against  tlie  very  savages  who 
had  held  him  in  bondage  —  himself  the  while  con- 
scious that  the  Indian,  in  all  the  cruelty  of  disap 
pointed  rage,  was  awaiting  his  retaking  to  make  hira 
a  monument  of  their  vengeance  —  this  must  have 
been  present  to  him  in  all  its  reaiity.  To  exchange 
this  for  a  peaceful  home  —  friends  and  family  around 
him  —  was  in  vivid  contrast!  Such  scenes  are  not 
in  the  life  of  every  man.  They  made  part  of  the  ex- 
traordinary experiences  of  an  extraordinary  man. 
To  Boone  life  seemed  a  wheel  whose  circuit  was  run 
in  the  midst  of  the  rough  and  sharp  rocks  of  danger, 
and  again  in  the  pleasant  abundance  of  regions  tlie 
most  fertile  and  soil  the  most  luxuriant ;  and  in  the 
battle  or  at  home,  a  captive  or  free,  he  was  the  same 
firm  and  gentle  man. 

The  excellent  effect  of  the  determined  stand  wliich 
had  been  taken  at  Boonesborough,  now  fully  devel- 
oped itself.  It  had  been  the  turning  point  where  was 
to  be  determined  whether  the  savage  should  proceed 
to  reassert  liis  lost  rights,  and  make  a  new  and  better 
title  to  his  hunting  fields,  or  whether  the  white  man 
should  hold  them  under  the  dominion  of  tlie  plough. 
It  was  whether  Kentucky  should  go  back  to  the  In- 
dians or  lorward  to  the  whites.  The  news  that  fifty  men 
bad  driven  back  and  defeated  four  hundred  and  fifly 


EMIGRATION    CONTINUES.  23 T 

savages,  and  that  the  Indians  had  fled,  was  soon  known 
through  the  settlements.  The  presence  of  Boone 
there,  in  safety  and  unharmed,  after  his  captivity  and 
battles,  was  an  indication  of  security,  and  it  was  of 
effect.  Yirginia  —  who  had  refused  to  advance  to 
Gen.  Clarke  a  few  tons  of  powder  for  the  defence  of 
the  frontier,  fearing  that  it  svas  an  adventure  too  haz- 
ardous, and  uncertain  whether  her  own  dominion  was 
extended  there,  or  whether  the  defiance  given  to  their 
governor  by  Henderson  might  not  be  a  potent  one — 
concluded  that  her  fears  were  groundless,  and  that 
she  had  a  great  treasure  in  her  western  possessions. 
There  were  large  estates  to  be  had,  and  those  who 
adventured  earliest  found  a  wide  freedom  of  choice. 
Hence  emigration,  in  the  year  1779,  was  abundant. 
Even  the  progress  of  the  revolutionary  incidents  could 
not  subdue  the  desire  to  exchange  a  barren  home  on 
the  seaboard  for  the  luxuriant  harvest  fields  of  the 
land  Boone  had  brought  into  notice.  These  lands 
were,  in  the  phrase  of  the  act,  on  the  western  waters, 
and  to  secure  her  rights  in  relation  to  the  lands  and 
the  revenue  arising  therefrom,  Yirginia  established  a 
land  office.  A  selection  of  prominent  citizens  was 
made  to  form  the  court,  who  shou}d  go  from  place  to 
place  where  questions  were  presented,  and  confirm 
tlie  titles.  Of  course,  in  the  formation  and  extin 
guishment  of  the  State  of  Transylvania  —  in  the  vari 
&US  affairs,  complicated  and  uncertain,  arising  out  of 


238  LIFE   OF   DAJ^IEL    BOONE. 

the  weighty  claim  of  Col.  Henderson  —  in  all  this 
there  was  W3rk  enough  for  the  commissioners,  and 
fcheir  decisions  were  to  be  of  the  highest  importance. 
A  similar  position  of  affairs  in  respect  to  land  titles 
has,  in  other  States,  called  for  like  action. 

To  settle  the  many  questions  which  came  out  of 
the  granting  of  land  to  the  soldiers  of  the  Revolutic»n, 
the  State  of  T^ew  York  once  instituted  a  commission, 
one  of  the  members  of  which  —  Vincent  Mathews  — 
survived  to  witness  her  great  prosperity,  which  fol- 
lowed the  deci^n  of  the  various  contests.  The  ses- 
sion of  this  tribunal  was,  in  part,  held  at  Aurora,  on 
the  Cayuga  Lake. 

The  Virginia  commissioners  were  William  Flem- 
ing, Edmund  Lyne,  Stephen  Twigg,  and  James  Bar- 
bour. (The  last  name  is  associated  in  modern  events 
with  statesmanship.)  This  commission  commenced 
its  duties  at  St.  Asaph's,  October  13th,  1779,  and  the 
first  claim  presented  was  that  of  the  distinguished 
man  who  afterwards  first  wore  the  gubernatorial  hon- 
ors of  Kentucky.  Isaac  Shelby  presented  a  claim  for 
adjudication,  having  raised  a  cfop  of  corn  in  tlie 
country  in  1776.  He  had  been  a  deputy  surveyor 
for  the  Transylvania  Company  ;  for  Henderson  seema 
to  have  been  singularly  successful  in  originating  the 
career  of  those  who  in  after  times  became  men  of 
mark.  This  crop  of  corn,  in  1776,  was  the  beginning 
of  that  Kentucky  life  which,  in  hira,  was  distingiushe  i 


THE   VIRGINIA    LAND   LAW.  23if 

for  all  that  could  illustrate,  in  high  honor,  her  fame 
Gov.  Morehead  says  this  famous  land  law  gave  birth 
to  unnumbered  woes.  The  trial  to  w  hich  it  subjected 
Boone  was  one  of  these.  This  strange  and  unfortu- 
nate law  provided  "  that  any  person  might  acquire 
title  to  so  much  waste  and  unappropriated  land  as  he  or 
she  might  desire  to  purchase,  on  paying  the  considera- 
tion of  forty  pounds  for  every  hundred  acres,  and  so  in 
proportion."  The  money  was  to  be  paid  to  the  treas- 
urer —  whose  receipt,  w^hen  given  to  the  auditor,  en- 
itle  to  a  certificate.  This  certificate  beino:  lodi^red  in 
the  land  office,  the  register  granted  a  warrant  author- 
izing the  land  to  be  surveyed.  Surveyors  who  had 
passed  the  ordeal  of  William  and  Mary  College  were  to 
lay  out  the  land,  and  on  their  return,  the  register 
made  due  record,  and  made  out  a  grant,  and  this  long 
labyrinth  had  its  exit  in  a  deed  which  was  to  have 
the  signature  of  the  governor,  with  the  seal  of  the 
commonwealth  attached. 

Even  in  these  days  —  with  all  our  flood  of  legal 
learning  —  with  common  schools,  and  time  to  attend 
them  —  with  no  Indian  fight  nearer  than  the  Eocky 
Mountains — it  may  be  doubted  how  many  of  us  could 
get  a  title  successfully  through  such  a  chain  of  evi- 
dence. It  must  have  been  the  last  act  drawn  by  the 
Bpecial  pleading  lawyers.  It  was  not  a  statute  for  the 
tiuDter  and  the  pioneer.  But  the  land  was  very  de 
birable,  and  there  was  a  rage  to  obtain  it.     The  hunt 


210  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    DUU:^E. 

era  were  pushed  aside  for  the  land-jobbers  Collins 
says  :  "The  surveyor's  cliain  and  compass  vere  seen 
in  the  woods  as  frequently  as  the  rifle  :  the  great  object 
in  Kentucky  was  to  enter,  survey  and  get  a  patent  for 
land."  Great  precision  was  required  in  entries,  and 
all  vague  entries  were  void.  The  forest  men  desire 
to  get  the  land  as  keenly  as  did  the  land  speculator  ; 
but  the  former  could  draw  a  sight  with  his  rifle,  better 
than  he  could  designate  the  line  of  his  lot,  and  all  be- 
came intermingled,  and  in  confusion.  Boone,  while 
with  his  family,  as  was  most  natural,  desired  to  se- 
cure his  home,  also,  in  the  land  he  had  often  called 
by  such  names  of  beauty,  and  as  he  had  been  in  the 
fight  quite  enough  to  satisfy  him  for  a  time,  now 
turned  his  attention  to  the  land  office.  It  was  doubt- 
less the  counsel  of  his  kind  and  considerate  wife  that 
he  should  do  so,  as  she  hoped  to  secure  him  from  fur- 
ther toil  and  disaster.  He  says  that  he  laid  out  the 
chief  of  his  little  property  to  secure  land  warrants, 
and  having  raised  about  twenty  thousand  dollars  in 
paper  money,  with  which  he  intended  to  purchase 
them,  on  his  way  from  Kentucky  to  Eichmond  he 
was  robbed  of  the  whole,  and  left  destitute  of  the 
means  of  procuring  more.  He  had  also  been  entrust 
ed  with  the  amount  raised  by  friends,  who  probably 
thought  that  their  claims,  with  such  an  agent  as 
Boone,  who  had   been   so  much   the  author  of  thu 


BOONi:    KOBBED    OF    HIS    MOJ^EY.  24J 

prosperity  of  which  this  great  area  was  available 
would  meet  speedy  settlement. 

A  receipt  was  preserved  by  Nathaniel  Hart,  Esq.. 
of  Woodford,  that  from  Hart,  Boone  received  about 
twenty-nine  hundred  pounds,  Virginia  money. 

His  robbery  gained  for  him  the  same  fate  that  be- 
falls nearly  all  men  who  meet  with  misfortune,  while 
engaged  in  the  execution  of  a  pecuniary  trust.  He 
was  censured,  and  it  was  either  charged  or  insinuated 
that  he  had  retained  the  money.  Similar  cases  are 
in  the  memory  of  every  man.  It  was  a  severe  blow 
to  Boone,  whose  simple-hearted  integrity  had  ever 
held  him  above  all  suspicion  of  dishonor.  It  was  a 
blow  the  more  severe,  because  it  seemed  to  wreck 
his  property  and  character,  and  doubtless  he  often 
felt  that  his  captivity  at  Chillicothe  might,  for  him, 
as  well  have  been  a  perpetual  one.  No  wonder  Boone 
calls  it  "  a  series  of  difficulties."  Most  fortunately 
for  the  fame  of  Boone,  Gov.  Morehead  has  preserved 
the  following  extract  of  a  letter  from  Oaj^t.  Thos.  Hart : 

"  I  observe  what  you  say  respecting  our  losses  by  Daniel 
Boone.  I  had  heard  of  the  misfortune  soon  after  it  hap- 
pened, but  n('t  of  my  being  a  partaker  before  now.  I  fee* 
fur  the  poor  people,  who,  perhaps,  are  to  lose  even  their 
preemptions  :  but  I  mudt  say,  I  feel  more  for  Boone,  whose 
character,  I  am  told,  suffers  by  it.  Much  degenerated  must 
the  people  of  this  age  be,  when  amongst  them  are  to  be 
found  men  to  censure  and  blast  the  reputation  of  a  person  so 
K  16 


243  Lli'E    (;F    DANIEL    BOONE. 

just  and  upright,  and  in  whose  breast  is  a  seat  of  virtue  toe 
pure  to  admit  of  a  thought  so  base  and  dishonorable.  I  have 
known  Boone  in  times  of  old,  when  poverty  and  distress  had 
him  fast  by  the  hand ;  and  in  these  wretched  circumstances, 
I  have  ever  found  him  of  a  noble  and  generous  soul,  despi 
sing  everything  mean;  and,  therefore,  I  will  freely  grant 
him  a  discharge  for  whatever  sums  of  mme  he  might  have 
been  possessed  of  at  the  time." 


There  is  in  this  letter  valuable  light  given  to  tlie 
history  and  character  of  Boone.  It  is  a  private  let- 
ter— a  very  well  written  one — and  one  in  which  there 
is  no  display  or  invention,  as  might  have  been  found 
in  a  public  document.  It  is  an  honorable  tribute  to 
an  honorable  man.  It  shows  us  that  Boone  was,  in 
earlier  life,  poor  and  distressed,  and  yet  a  stranger 
even  to  a  thought  that  was  base  or  dishonorable.  It 
shows  that  an  intelligent  contemporary,  finding  himseli 
a  pecuniary  sufi*erer,  still  in  that  hour  calls  the  mau 
through  whose  misfortune  his  loss  has  come,  a  nobie 
and  generous  soul.  Such  a  testimonial  is  of  intense 
value.  Men  do  not  say  such  things  of  their  associ- 
tes  in  life,  in  jprivate  lelt&rs^  unless  the  truth  imj^els 
the  sentiment. 

!  It  shows,  also,  that  not  merely  the  rich,  but  the 
poor  confided  in  him  ;  and  it  is  quite  likely  that 
Boone  felt  the  accumulated  trouble  consequent  on  all 
this,  more  than  he  ever  did  Indian  captivity  or  bor- 
der difficulty.     Boone  had  the  sagacity  to  outmanoeu* 


IHE    J.AND    LAW    UNrurULAli.  213 

ver  a  host  of  savages,  but  the  robbers  that  made  a 
prey  of  him,  in  his  journey,  were  beyond  his  strategy. 
The  land  law,  even  had  Boone  not  been  i ebbed, 
would  liave  been  disastrous  to  Lim.  If  he  located,  he 
did  so  under  circumstances  which  could  be  turned 
against  him  by  some  sharper.  There  would  be  some 
defect  — technical  and  incomprehensible,  but  disas- 
trous—by which  he  would  have  lost  all.  Boone  had 
been  accustomed  to  locate  by  the  majesty  of  discov- 
ery. Alone  in  all  Kentucky,  he  seemed  almost  to 
possess  the  right  which  Columbus  had,  when  he  first 
heard  the 

" dashing. 

Silver-flashing 
Surges  of  San  Salvador  ; " 

and  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  that  it  waa 
right  to  limit  him  to  all  the  angles  and  meshes  of  a 
most  intricate  statute.  If  Boone  ever  was  that  which 
some  have  described  him,  and  w^hich  he  was  believed 
to  be  before  a  proper  investigation  had  been  given  to 
his  character  —  a  misanthrope  —  it  was  the  creation 
of  those  wlio,  as  Capt.  Hart  says,  endeavored  to  cen- 
sure  and  blast  his  reputation.  Byron  says  of  Boone 
that  "Le  shrunk  from  men  even  of  his  nation;"  but 
the  fancy  of  llie  poet  is  in  the  thought,  for  Boone  re- 
Bpected  men  whuse  nature  proved  itself  by  generoui 
acts.     From  those  who  accused  him  of  being  the  rob 


244 


Llb^E    OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 


ber  of  the  poor,  he  doubtless  wished  to  phice  the  sep 
aration  of  the  forest. 

I^ot withstanding  all  the  long  train  of  troubles 
which  ensued  upon  the  land  law,  Finley,  whose  work 
in  Kentucky  was  for  many  years  of  great  authority 
considered  the  law  as  most  beneficent.  Being  a  littl 
of  the  "  reformer,"  something  of  the  soldier,  as  he  was 
a  captain,  and  withal  a  commissioner  for  laying  out 
the  lands  hi  the  settlements,  he  rather  liked  the  law, 
as  it  seemed  to  provide  for  everything,  and  leave  no- 
thing to  the  lawyers.  Yain  hope !  It  occupied  the 
bar  for  a  half  century  I 


CHAPTEE    XIY. 

iOONK    RETITRNS    TO  BOONESBOROUGn  WITH  UIB    FAMILY  —  TIE  BKITIBH  AN! 

INDIANS    CONTEMPLATE    A    BOLD    ATTACK     OX    KENTUCKT  ANECDOTE    OI 

KANDOLPH GOV.    MOREHKAD's    HISTORY     OF    BOONESBOF.OUGH BOON! 

AND  HIS    BROTHER  GO  TO  THE  BLUE    LICKS HIS  BROTH'^R  IS  SHOT  BY  IN- 
DIANS   BOONE  IS  PURSUED  AND  ESCAPES THE  COLD  WINTER  OK  1780 

ORGANIZATION  OF  COUNTIES INDIAN  HOSTILITIES  RENEWED THE  BRIT- 
ISH GOVERNMENT  AND  THE  INDIANS THE  RENEGADES  GIHTY  ANDMCKEK 

CONSTANT  ALARMS  OF  THE  SETTLERS THE  CONFEDEI.AT'SD  INDIANS  — 

BOONE  AGAIN  AFFLICTED  IN  THE  DEATH  OF  BRYANT. 

Boone  could  not  remain  in  the  settlements.  The 
home  he  desired  was  in  broader  compass.  Witli  his 
losses,  there  was  renewed  and  greater  occapion  for  his 
exertion.  That  exertion  he  was  yet  able  co  make,  for 
now  he  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  life  —  being  forty- 
five —  though  it  is  most  probable  that,  with  his  ex- 
traordinary exposures,  time  had  borne  heavily  on 
him,  and  that  he  appeared  to  be  a  much  older  man 
than  in  reality  he  was.  He  determined  to  go  back  to 
Boonesborough,  and,  to  the  everlasting  honor  of  hia 
wife,  she  agreed  to  accompany  him.  ilev  heart  must 
have  been  to  remain  in  the  pleasant  home,  where  the 
night  passed  without  the  yell  of  the  blood-thirsty 
Bavage,  fiercely  endeavoring  to  destroy  life  and  pro- 
perty ;  but  she  knew  her  duty  to  accorapimy  her  no- 


24:6  I^IFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

l.le  hearted  hi-isband,  and  she  and  her  family  again 
prepared  tc  go  to  the  land  of  the  rich  but  periloua 
West.  The  road  was  better  known  now.  The  pro- 
babilities were  that  there  would  be  found  many  bound 
for  the  same  land  of  enterprise.  "With  all  slie  held 
precious  in  life,  she  again  essayed  tlie  journey  whose 
bitterest  incident,  in  former  years,  had  been  the  loss 
of  her  gallant  child.  She  could  scarcely  expect  but 
that  a  similar  fate  might  be  but  too  likely  to  await 
the  bold  men  around  her,  who  would  be  found  fore- 
most in  every  scene  of  danger. 

Boone  says,  in  condensed  phrase,  that  he  "  settled 
his  family  in  Boonesborough  once  more."  The  old 
fort  had  its  brave  defender  once  more  within  its  walls, 
and  when  Boone  stood  within  it,  it  is  not  fancy  to 
suppose  that  the  memories  of  the  many  fierce  fights 
he  had  known,  in  each  of  which  he  had  been  an  ac- 
tor, and  which  had  been  waged  to  obtain  possession 
of  this  place,  must  have  been  in  his  thought.  He 
had  linked  his  name  to  fame,  among  brave  and  suc- 
cessful soldiers,  by  his  great  defence,  and  the  fort  was 
to  him  no  common  place. 

Boonesborough  was  destined  to  no  siege  after  tliis. 
It  had  possessed  its  share  of  reverses  in  tliat  way,  and 
the  savage  attempted  its  conquest  no  more. 

And  yet  it  might  easily  have  been  captured,  if  ar- 
tillery had  been  used  against  it  —  that  most  powerful 
arm  of  war  which  overcomes  distance,  and  before 


ANOTHER   EXPEDITION    AGAINST    KENTTJCKIT.         241 

wliich  the  keen  rifle  is  powerless.  Tliat  it  neeilei. 
this,  to  give  them  conquest  over  the  settler's  bul 
warks,  the  British  found  out  in  1780.  When  General 
Clarke  had  successfully  pursued  his  noble  campaign 
of  desfei'oying  the  great  influence  which  the  British 
possessed  over  the  Indian,  by  the  support  received  at 
Detroit,  Vincennes  and  Kaskaskia,  and  had  turned 
tlie  tables  by  actually  taking  Col.  Hamilton  prisoner 
—  the  same  who  had  commanded  at  Detroit  when 
Boone  was  led  there  in  captivity  —  the  British  deter- 
mined to  make  a  bold  and  vigorous  attack  on  Ken- 
'■ucky.  They  organized  a  force  of  six  hundred  In- 
lians  and  Canadians,  under  the  command  of  Colonel 
Byrd ;  but  the  Indians  and  Canadians  would  have 
come  and  gone  again,  had  they  not  brought  with 
them  two  cannon.  Tliere  was  immense  difliculty  in 
their  transportation,  and  hence  the  unwillingness  of 
parties  to  encumber  themselves  with  them.  Their 
route  was,  as  far  as  possible,  by  w^ater,  using  the  Great 
Miami,  the  Ohio,  and  the  Licking.  In  the  times  of 
the  war  of  1812,  when  the  authorities  of  the  United 
States  desired  to  transport  cannon,  even  over  a  road 
as  much  worked  and  traveled  as  that  between  Albany 
and  Bufl*alo,  the  lauor  of  forwarding  them  was  so 
enormous  that  very  often,  after  the  severe  work  of  ai« 
entire  day,  the  place  of  starting  could  be  seen  at  eve- 
Ding  from  the  place  of  rest.  In  our  day,  all  over  the 
and  to  which  Boone   invited  the  settler,  and  whero 


348  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

fhc  weary  pioneer  held  his  difficult  ^ay,  the  iron  road 
threads  its  way  in  all  directions,  so  that  an  army  coulo 
concentrate  with  all  the  pomj)  and  circumstance  of 
war,  in  less  hours  than  the  men  of  Boone's  time  could 
have  reckoned  by  days;  and  even  yet  there  live  soma 
men  wlio  have  seen  the  country  in  both  its  great 
conditions. 

Strange  it  was  that  this  army  with  its  artillery  con 
fined  itself  but  to  conquests  in  part,  for,  with  its  iron 
allies,  it  might  have  swept  out  of  existence,  as  well 
Ijoonesborough  as  the  other  log-built  fortresses  ;  but 
Heaven  destined  a  better  fate  for  the  great  State  of 
which  these  forts  were  the  parentage. 

Boonesboroiigh  had  once  been  recognized  by  the 
law  of  Virginia  in  all  the  dignity  of  a  municipality. 
It,  with  more  of  adventure  than  belongs  to  most 
towns  in  our  country,  had  commenced  its  career  in  a 
State  suffici-ently  sovereign  and  independent  while  it 
lasted,  but  whose  duration  had  been  rather  brief.  It 
had  been  a  subject  to  the  laws  of  the  Third  George, 
of  England,  but  a  short  time.  It  had  known  the  au- 
thority of  Col.  Henderson's  Transylvania  for  a  pei*iod 
as  brief;  and  now  the  Ancient  Dominion  took  the 
fort  under  its  dignified  protection.  In  October,  1779, 
the  Legislature  of  Virginia  established  by  law  the 
town  of  Boonesborough,  m  the  county  of  Kentucky  ! 

That  Virginia  once  held  the  State  of  Kentucky  aa 
in  appendage — a  mere  county  —  seems  strangle  id 


ANECDOTE    OF   EANDOLPH.  24J> 

deed.  When,  in  his  best  days,  the  ek-x^nent  Kaii- 
dolj)h  was  introduced  to  a  gentleman  from  Kentucky, 
he  told-  him  he  was  from  the  Botany  Day  of  Yir 
ginia.  The  Kentuckian  felt  the  remark  to  be  dis- 
courteous, and  could  not  avoid  manifesdug  his  sur- 
prise ;  but  the  statesman  immediately  sai  J  —  "  Yes — 
just  as  England,  which  at  first  sent  only  jier  rougher 
population  to  Botany  Bay,  has  founded  a  State  which 
will  outrival  and  exceed  its  parent,  it  ^vall  be  with 
Kentucky."  Kandolph  did  not  live  to  see  how  truth 
fully  Australia  was  working  out,  in  its  golden  treas 
ure,  his  illustration,  but  he  did  survive  to  note  how 
steady  and  sure  was  the  advance  of  Kentacky  till,  in 
freshness  of  action  and  strength  of  resource,  it  be- 
comes peer  to  the  State  which  once  consid'jred  it  only 
as  a  far-off,  frontier  county. 

Of  this  town  Daniel  Boone  was  named,  in  the  act, 
as  one  of  the  trustees.  Surveys  of  the  lots  were  or- 
dered, and  a  very  liberal  grant  directed  to  be  made  to 
ill  who  would  build  a  dwelling  at  least  sixteen  feet 
square,  with  a  brick,  stone  or  dirt  chimney.  The  cit- 
izens of  Kentucky  have  enlarged  their  ideas  of  archi- 
tecture since  that  law  passed.  Every  one  of  the 
trustees  declined  to  act.  What  induced  this  whole^ 
sale  modesty  of  office  on  the  part  of  these  settlei** 
does  not  appear.  It  is  quite  probable  that  Boone  d« 
sired  no  connection  with  anything  that  looked  like  \ 
land  office,  after  his  experiences  in  such  subjects. 
K* 


250  LITE   OF   DAI^IEL   BOONE. 

Tie  has  been  so  inncli  l>efore  ns,  as  connected  witt 
Boonesborougli,  that  it  becomes  appropriate  to  quote 
here  the  eloquent  delineation  given  by  Gov.  More- 
nead  of  the  subsequent  history  of  the  town. 

**  Even  with  the  assistance  of  these  bountiful  provisions, 
Boonesborough  neve-  rose  to  any  importance  among  the  vil- 
lages of  Kentucky.  A  was  the  first,  and  perhaps  on  that  ac- 
count, in  the  earlier  period  of  her  history  the  doomed  for- 
tress, against  which  the  savages  seemed  to  have  directed  their 
most  determined  efforts,  and  having  withstood  them,  through 
a  series  of  years  of  difficulty  and  danger,  it  lost  precedence 
•which  circumstances  had  given  to  it,  and  sunk  with  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  enemy  whose  incursions  it  had  t^o  success- 
fully resisted.  Time  has  passed  roughly  over  the  consecra- 
ted spot  of  the  first  settlement  of  Kentucky.  The  "  lots  and 
streets"  of  Boonesborough  have  ceased  to  be  known  by 
their  original  Imes  and  landmarks.  The  work  of  the  pio- 
neers has  perished.  Scarce  a  vestige  remains  of  their  rudely 
built  cabins  and  their  feeble  palisades.  The  elm  under  whose 
shade  they  worshipped  and  legislated  and  took  counsel  of 
each  other  for  safety  and  defence,  no  longer  survives  to 
spread  its  ample  canopy  over  our  heads.  But  the  soil  on 
which  they  stood  is  under  our  feet.  The  spring  which  slaked 
>heir  burning  thirst,  at  every  pause  in  their  conflicts  with  the 
'emorseless  foe,  is  at  our  side.  The  river  from  whose  cliffs 
the  Indian  leveled  his  rifle  at  the  invaders  of  his  hunting 
ground,  still  rolls  its  "  arrowy  "  current  at  our  back.  These 
are  memorials  that  cannot  fail.  How  replete  with  interest 
Kre  the  reminiscences  they  awaken ! 

"  They  remind  us  of  Boone  ar  d  his  adventurous  compan- 
ions, plying  the  forest  with  theii  axes,  and  throwing  theii 
^uick  and  anxious  glances  aroun^  them,  as  if  the  reverbera 


Boone's  adventures  renewed.  25, 

(Ion  of  every  stroke  mis^ht  ho  the  tocsin  of  their  doom  —  of 
Henderson,  and  Hart,  and  Williams,  the  self-styled  pioprie- 
tors  of  the  '  new  born  country,'  priding  themselves  on  their 
iitle  to  the  soil,  hurling  defiance  at  a  royal  governor,  claim 
ing  admission  into  the  confederacy  of  united  colonies,  and 
*  placing  the  corner-stone  of  a'  political  'edifice'  that  would 
only  be  great  and  glorious  in  proportion  to  the  excellence  of 
its  foundation  —  of  Slaughter,  and  Todd,  and  Floyd,  and  Har- 
rod,  and  Callaway,  the  law-givers  and  defenders  of  the  fron- 
tier ;  of  Sythe,  the  peaceful  '  minister  of  the  church  of  Eng- 
land,' whose  sacred  vocation  could  not  exempt  him  from  the 
death  of  the  tomahawk  :  and  while  we  are  thus  reminded  of 
the  men,  by  v,-hose  valor  and  perseverance  this  fair  land  was 
won,  and  by  whose  agency  its  institutions  were  planted,  who 
does  not  feel  himself  borne  down  by  the  weight  of  the  ob- 
ligations  of  respect  and  gratitude,  which  their  services  have 
imposed  ?  Honor  to  the  memory  —  peace  to  the  ashes  of  the 
first  settlers  of  Kentucky  !  " 

Ko  sooner  did  Boone  return  to  Boonesborongh  than 
his  adventures  and  his  perils  were  renewed.  Indeed, 
his  whole  life  was  one  series  of  wild  and  strange  ex- 
periences. He  found  the  fort  not  likely  to  be  at- 
tacked, as  there  were  so  many  settlements  around  it 
as  to  give  the  foe  too  much  annoyance  in  the  rear,  if 
he  attempted  it.  He  projected  an  expedition  to  the 
Blue  Licks,  and  was  accompanied  by  his  brother, 
Squire,  who  had  so  often  been  with  him  in  the  perils 
of  the  forest  and  the  fort.  They  left  on  the  sixth  oi 
October,  1780.  It  may  be  that  as  they  had  the  win 
ter  before  them,  they  visited  this  disastrous  localitv 


252  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

foi  the  purpose  of  seeking  a  supply  of  salt,  with 
which  to  prepare  their  provisions  for  the  winter;  oj 
it  may  have  been  only  the  passion  for  the  adventu 
rous  in  hunting.  These  same  men  had  hunted  to- 
gether when  all  Kentucky  was  their  hunting  ground, 
and  when  they  were  compelled  to  rely,  under  Provi- 
dence, on  themselves  to  escape  the  perils  of  the  wild 
beast,  or  what  they  dreaded  tar  more,  the  cruel  and 
powerful  savage,  in  whose  very  home  they  had  estab- 
lished their  cabin. 

The  union  and  affection  of  these  fraternal  pioneers 
were  cemented  by  their  endurance  of  a  thousand 
common  dangers.  For  Squire,  Boone  had  waited  for 
months  alone  —  completely  alone  —  never  doubting 
that  if  he  could.  Squire  would  find  his  way  to  him. 
It  was  Squire  tliat,"when  Boone  was  pursuing  that 
wonderful  journey  of  solitary  discovery,  had  braved 
the  dangers  and  passed  the  mountain,  and  with  con- 
summate sagacity,  found,  in  that  trackless  forest,  his 
brother;  and  in  fight  and  hunt,  he  had  been  with 
him.  When  the  siege  was  on.  Squire  was  of  the  brave 
men  who  dared  to  meet  the  treacherous  Indian  in  his 
pretended  council.  And  now  that  Boone,  with  prop 
erty  gone  and  with  character  assailed,  had  returned 
to  frontier  life,  it  seems  quite  probable  that  he  sought 
this  expedition  with  Squire,  that  there  might  be  full 
and  free  converse  of  all  that  had  passed.  Thero  wairf 
at  least  one  man  who  never  had  deserted  him,  what 


SQUIRE    BCONE    KILLED.  253 

ever  might  be  tho  peril.  Tliej  reached  the  Bhie 
Licks  in  safety,  and  were  on  their  return.  Certainly, 
Boone  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  nerve,  or  he  could 
not  have  sought  again  the  scene  where  his  capture 
had  taken  place,  every  foature  of  which  must  have 
been  associated  with  some  fearful  recollection.  And 
the  danger  was  not  fancied.  He  soon  had  occasion 
to  know  that  the  destinies  of  the  Blue  Licks  were  fa- 
tal to  him.  They  were  but  two.  The  Indians  dis- 
covered them,  and  they  were  fired  upon  by  a  party 
who  were  in  ambuscade.  If  the  Indians  had  known 
them,  they  would  not  have  dared,  unless  with  vast 
disparity  of  numbers,  to  have  met  them  in  open  field. 
Tlie  fire  of  the  savage  was  fatal  to  Squire  ;  and  he 
who  had  braved  successfully  all  the  horrors  of  the 
solitary  journey  —  of  the  siege  and  of  all  forms  of 
Indian  peril  —  found  his  end  in  this  sad  journey.  He 
met  the  fate  which  is  written  in  the  family  annals  of 
almost  every  pioneer.  Scalped,  and  probably  disfig- 
ured, Boone  must  leave  him,  for  if  he  hesitated,  the 
same  or  a  worse  fate  awaited  him. 

Boone  soon  had  reason  to  know  that  the  Indian  was 
his  bitter  foe.  They  soon  turned  from  the  dead  to  the 
living,  and  were  in  full  chase  after  him;  and  this 
time  they  added  to  their  usual  pursuit  the  keeniiesg 
and  ferocity  of  the  dog.  He  was  pursued  as  if  he  hiul 
been  a  wild  beas^  :  but  the  Pioneer  was  not  dismayed, 
either  bj'  savage  or  dog      For  three  miles,  the  chase 


ySl  LIFE   OB    DANILL    JJUUNE. 

kept  on.  Probably  he  soon  left  the  Indians  behind 
Tliey  may  have  lost  their  time  in  wreaking  tlieii 
wretched  vengeance  on  his  brother's  corpse.  Tho 
dog  kept  on.  When  he  had  gone  the  distance  men- 
tioned, Boone,  by  the  aid  of  his  unerring  rifle,  stopped 
the  farther  progress  of  the  dog,  and  completed,  ir 
Bafety,  another  of  his  wonderful  escapes  ;  bearing,  aa 
the  Indians  must  have  thought,  if  they  knew  ^vho  it 
was  that  they  were  after,  a  charmed  life.  The  settle- 
ments  must  have  been  much  more  numerous  than  be- 
fore, or  the  pursuit  would  have  been  continued,  since 
it  was  a  long  distance  between  the  Licks  and  the 
fort. 

That  was  a  sad  hour  when  he  returned  alone  to 
the  fort.  It  was  to  tell  the  tidings  of  this  new  and 
bitter  calamity.  Squire  Boone  was  a  fitting  compan- 
ion to  his  brother.  He  seems  to  have  been  like  him. 
He  was  the  man  on  whom  he  had  relied,  and  whose 
energetic  companionship  was  always  of  intense  value. 

Boone  felt  tliis  sorrow  exceedingly,  and  following, 
as  it  did,  his  losses,  this  period  was  a  dark  hour  in  tlie 
Pioneer's  history.  Squire  bore  the  name  of  liis  father. 
He  was  the  youngest  boy,  and  the  youngest  cliild  but 
one.  In  the  greater  fame  and  longer  career  uf  his 
brothc]',  his  name  has  been  overlooked  ;  but  Kentucky 
may  well  enroll  him  among  its  fathers.  11  ad  he  done 
no  other  deed  than  that  of  performing,  almost  alone, 
the  memorable  journey  through  the  Indian  wilder- 


A   SEVEJRE    WLNTKK.  'JoC 

ness,  in  search  of  the  brother  he  loved,  it  would  have 
made  his  name  memorable. 

Now  came  on  the  dread  winter  of  178(>  —  memora- 
ble in  our  history  for  its  severity.  It  was  that  famoua 
winter  in  which  even  the  Bay  of  New  York  yielded 
to  the  frost,  and  artillery  rolled  over  the  solid  cover- 
ing. It  was  the  period  concerning  which,  even  yet, 
very  old  men  tell  us  wonderful  relations  of  its  expe- 
riences. The  settler  felt  it,  in  one  respect,  a  benefit, 
for  the  savage  was  kept  within  his  forests  by  it,  and 
the  frozen  earth  was  unstained  by  blood.  In  every 
other  respect,  the  frontier  people  sufiered.  Boone 
says :  "  The  severity  of  the  winter  caused  great  diffi- 
culties in  Kentucky.  The  enemy  had  destroyed  most 
of  the  corn  the  summer  before.  This  necessary  article 
was  scarce  and  dear,  and  the  inhabitants  lived  chiefly 
on  the  flesh  of  bufi'alo.  The  circumstances  of  many 
were  very  lamentable;  however,  being  a  hardy  rac«i? 
of  people,  and  accustomed  to  difliculties  and  neces- 
sities, they  were  wonderfully  supported  through  all 
their  suflerings." 

In  this  scene  of  tronble,  the  frontier  had  abundant 
companions  —  for  all  over  our  country,  the  severity 
of  that  season  added  to  the  distress  which  was  conse- 
quent upon  the  war.  The  American  troops  were  re- 
luced  to  the  saddest  privations.  The  winter  of  178C 
may  have  been  equaled  or  exceeded  in  its  thermume 
trical  characteristics,  but  the  cold  never  else  came  at  a 


256  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BUONE. 

time  when  it  so  completely  accumulatecl  its  strength 
In  connection  with  other  ills. 

Boone  felt  that  the  Indians  had  struck  a  blow  at 
Boonesborough,  in  causing  the  death  of  his  beloved 
brother,  greater  than  the  savage  could  have  hoj  ed 
and  that  winter  must  have  been  to  him  one  of  the 
most  melancholy  periods  of  his  life  ;  nor  is  it  likely 
but  that  he  looked  to  the  Blue  Licks  with  the  most 
painful  association,  since  he  had  hitherto  only  visited 
it  to  write  disaster  and  mourning  upon  his  life.  And 
yet,  how  terrible  was  the  after  history  of  that  local- 
ity !  Certainly,  to  Boone,  it  was  the  gloom  of  hid 
life. 

In  his  diary,  Boone  makes  no  mention  of  a  circum- 
stance which,  in  the  minds  of  most  men,  would  have 
been  so  prominent  that  it  would  have  been  of  hrst 
record.  Virginia  had  wisely  concluded  to  extend  its 
jurisdiction  over  its  western  lands,  and  had  deter- 
mined its  division  into  three  counties  —  Fayette,  Lin 
coin  and  Jefferson  —  neither  of  the  individuals  whose 
names  were  thus  bestowed,  having  been  identified 
with  the  settlement  of  the  country.  Virginia  passed 
by  the  honored  names  of  Boone,  and  Finley,  and 
Henderson,  and  Clarke,  who  had  done  so  much  to- 
wards making  this  vast  domain  available  for  the  pur- 
poses of  civilization.  It  was  a  trait  of  the  policy 
whicii  soon  prepared  the  way  for  the  separati(ui  and 
kidependency  of  Kentucky.     To  each  county  was  a» 


THE    COURT  OF    COMMISSIONEHS.  251 

Signed*  a  military  organization,  and  Daniel  Boanewaa 
made  lieutenant  colonel  of  Lincoln  county.  Pro* 
motion  is  not  always  won  by  services  as  gallant  aa 
his  were.  He  had  a  noble-hearted  general  —  Clarke 
—  and  the  frontiei  could  look  around  on  its  soldiery, 
and  feel  that  it  might  bear  comparison  with  that  of 
any  part  of  the  country.  Such  warriors  as  Boone, 
and  Kenton,  and  Ilarrod,  deserve  the  fame  which 
has  so  justly  fallen  to  Marion  and  Morgan. 

The  famous  Court  of  Commissioners  in  relation  to 
land  titles,  ended  its  session  on  the  twenty-sixth  of 
April,  1780.  It  had  been  in  session  seven  months, 
and  had  granted  three  thousand  claims  —  an  extent 
of  industry  to  which  modern  commissions  furnish  no 
parallel.  It  had  passed  part  of  its  official  existence 
in  the  fort  at  Boonesborough  —  that  being  the  scene 
of  all  that  was  interesting  in  that  region,  in  peace  or 
war.  Yery  many  of  those  who  profited  by  their  la- 
bors, and  secured  titles,  were  actuated  by  the  desire 
which  was  expressed  by  Col.  Thomas  Marshall,  who 
distinguishing  himself  at  the  head  of  the  third  Yir- 
ginia  Kegiment,  at  Brandy  wine  and  Germantown, 
declared  his  object  before  the  commissioners  to  be  "to 
locate  land  warrants,  as  a  provision  for  a  numerous 
family,  which  he  intended  to  remove  to  the  country 
on  the  restoration  of  peace.  " 

The  emigration  in  this  year  was  very  great.  Three 
hindred  large  boats  aiTived  in  the  spring  of  1780,  at 

17 


258  LtFE    OF   DANffiL   BOONE. 

the  Falls,  wh  )&e  occupants  hoped,  in  the  land  of  fer 
tilitj,  to  lay  up  a  better  provision  than  their  oldei 
habitations  furnished.     The  winter,  in  its  intensity 
was  a  fearful  admonition  to  be  protected  against  long 
months  of  privation. 

Virginia  honored  herself  by  laying  plans  to  "  dif- 
fuse knowledge  among  her  remote  citizens  —  whoso 
situation  in  a  barbarous  neighborhood  and  a  savage 
intercourse  might  otherwise  render  unfriendly  to 
science."  These  fostering  efforts  established  a  litera- 
ry institution  for  Kentucky,  which,  Gov.  Morehead 
says,  "  in  the  progress  of  sixty  years,  filled  her  as 
semblies  with  law-givers  —  her  cabinets  with  states- 
men— her  judicial  tribunals  with  ministers  of  justice 
—  her  pulpits  with  diviues  —  and  crowded  the  pro- 
fessional ranks  at  home  and  abroad  with  ornaments 
and  benefactors  of  their  country." 

That  w^inter  of  1780  deserves  more  than  brief  re 
cord.  It  was  a  sorrow  laid  across  the  path  of  the 
revolutionary  struggle.  To  this  frontier,  with  the 
imperfect  buildings,  it  was,  indeed,  a  period  of  deso- 
lation. From  the  middle  of  November  to  the  middle 
of  February,  snow  and  ice  continued  on  the  ground 
without  a  thaw.  Many  of  the  cattle  perished,  and 
numbers  of  bears,  buffalo,  deer,  wolves,  beavers,  otters 
and  wild  turkeys,  were  found  frozen  to  death.  Some- 
times the  famished  wild  animals  would  come  up  in 
the  yards  of  the  stations  along  with  the  tame  cattlo 


^UFFlaaNGS    OF   THE    SETl'LEKB.  2bi 

&UCI1  -.vas  tlie  scarcity  of  food  that  a  single  "  jonny 
cake  '  would  be  divided  into  a  dozen  parts,  and  dis- 
tiibuted  around  to  the  inmates  to  serve  for  two  meals. 
Even  this  resource  failed,  and  for  weeks  they  had  no- 
thing to  live  on  but  wild  game.  Sixty  dollars  (Con 
tinental)  a  bushel  were  given  for  corn."  It  is  fortu- 
nate for  mankind  that  only  in  a  long  interval  of  years 
does  such  intense  cold  seem  necessary  to  preserve 
the  great  equilibrium  of  the  atmosphere.  Though  it 
is  three  score  years  and  ten  since  the  winter  of  "  '80" 
occurred,  its  recollections  are  even  yet  often  renewed 
—  and  with  the  eclipse  of  1804,  it  furnishes  an  era 
by  which  uneducated  old  men  measure  their  days. 

The  Indian  forbore  any  organized  attack  upon 
Boonesborough,  but  it  was  yet  unsafe  to  venture 
about  without  the  utmost  care  and  precaution.  The 
savage  now  ceased  to  molest  with  murderous  intent. 
Near  the  fort,  about  a  mile  above,  but  in  the  same 
valley  of  the  river,  there  dwelt  some  orderly,  respect- 
able people,  and  the  men  were  good  soldiers.  They 
had  emigrated,  like  Boone's  family,  from  Pennsylva- 
nia, leaving  the  quiet  of  that  pacific  State  to  find 
themselves  surrounded  by  the  worst  of  foes.  Such 
men  paid  most  bitterly  for  their  desire  tc  acquire  ex- 
tensive territory. 

But  notwithstanding  all  tliis,  the  settlement  of  the 
country  went  on.  The  land  was  too  good  to  be  given 
ttp  to  the  Indians  ;  and  while  the  attacks  of  tlie  latte? 


260  LIFE   OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

made  men  desperate,  it  only  gave  them  greater  de 
termination,  that  their  children  should  enjoy  in  peace, 
that  for  which  they  periled  their  lives  every  hour. 
The  settlers  took  possession,  whenever  it  was  practi- 
cable, of  their  lots,  and  the  surveyor  moved  abou 
from  place  to  place,  leaving  the  record  of  his  valua- 
ble science  in  inscriptions  upon  trees,  which  have 
long  since  been  so  changed,  where  the  axe  has  not 
removed  them  entirely,  that  they  are  studied  like  an 
ancient  inscription. 

The  profession  of  a  surveyor  in  this  country  re- 
ceived unfading  honor  by  its  having  been,  at  one  pe- 
riod of  his  life,  that  of  George  Washington,  and  it  ia 
of  proof  that  the  surveyors  in  Kentucky  might  claim 
this  illustrious  man  as  one  of  their  predecessors.  He 
made  for  John  Frj  two  surveys,  and  in  complete  con- 
sistency with  that  wonderful  precision  and  method  in 
business  which  so  distinguished  him,  every  corner  was 
found  well  marked.  On  the  beginning  coi'ner  he  cut 
the  initials  of  his  name.  By  such  writing  on  the 
forest  Kentucky  holds  the  pleasant  remembrance 
that  the  Father  of  his  Country  w^as  once  within  her 
limits. 

In  1781,  one  of  the  earliest  children  of  Kentucky 
— Ei chard  M.  Johnson  was  born — who  afterwards 
rose  to  the  high  honor  of  the  Vice-Presidency  c-f 
the  United  States.  His  father  was  of  those  who 
took   an  active  and  prominent  part  in  the  sangui 


THE    INDIANS    (iKoW    BOLDER.  26 J 

nary  conflicts  which  rao-ofl  hctwoen  tliG  settlers  aiio 
the  savages,  in  the  early  history. 

Boone,  in  1781,  remained  in  Boonesborongh.  He 
had  seen  it  placed  npon  a  secure  tenure  ;  at  least  as 
safe  as  any  place  could  possess  in  a  scene  of  constant 
border  warfare.  The  land,  settling  as  its  pleasant 
acres  were,  had  only  arrived  even  at  this  degree  of 
safety  by  a  succession  of  bloody  struggles.  He  says, 
in  his  narrative,  that  when  Col.  Henderson  seen  red 
the  deed  of  cession  from  the  Indians,  in  which  Boone 
acted  a  part  so  prominent,  and  which  enabled  Hen 
derson  to  originate  the  State  of  Transylvania,  an  old 
Indian  took  him  (Boone)  by  the  hand,  and  said: 
"  Brother,  we  have  given  you  a  tine  land,  but  I  be- 
lieve you  will 'have  some  trouble  in  settling  it."  The 
Indian's  prophecy  had  written  its  truth  in  letters  of 
blcod.  To  Boone,  the  prediction  was  fatally  forcible, 
and  with  a  strength  of  expression  which  even  Filson'a 
secretaryship  could  not  spoil,  Boone  says,  "  My  foot- 
steps have  often  been  marked  with  blood." 

Towards  the  spring  of  1782,  the  Indians  became 
bolder,  and  Boone  heard  that  .1  May  of  that  year, 
a  neighboring  station  was  assaulted,  and  a  prisonei 
taken.  The  marauders  were  pursued  by  Captain 
Ashton,  but  the  Indians  were  superior  in  force,  and 
Ashton  and  eleven  of  his  i)arty  were  killed  —  a  ter- 
rd)le  loss  out  of  the  twenty-five  men  of  whom  the  ex- 
pedition was  composed.     Such  a  result  of  a  c*  aitest 


262  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

^irli  the  settlers,  wakerl  np  anew  the  determiiiatioL 
ol"  the  Indians  to  make  the  frontier  men  pay  most 
dearly  for  their  occupancy  of  their  old  and  favorite 
hunting  ground. 

It  is  now  a  time  in  which  the  question  may  be  ex 
amined,  whether  the  British  government  did  no 
write  a  fearful  disgrace  in  its  annals,  by  the  maimer 
in  which  it  allowed  its  officers  to  excite  the  savage  to 
deeds  of  the  most  dreadful  cruelty.  All  is  not  fair  in 
war ;  and  even  in  the  contests  of  nations,  there  is  a 
limit  beyond  which  the  brave  encounter  of  honorable 
men,  each  believing  his  quarrel  just,  is  changed  into 
the  ferocious  wickedness  of  demons.  The  premium 
offered  for  scalps  was  horrible.  It  gave  the  Indian, 
in  his  terrific  barbarity,  the  strange  Encouragement 
of  a  great  and  civilized  nation.  These  cruelties  were 
emulated  by  the  Britisli  soldier.  Mavor,  one  of  the 
most  prejudiced  and  partial  of  monarchical  historians 
— fitting  to  share  the  partisan  reputation  of  Alison — 
relates  an  instance  occurring  about  this  period,  in  a 
remote  part  of  tlie  country.  "  A  large  body  of  Brit- 
ish troops  burnt  a  considerable  part  of  the  village  of 
Connecticut  Farms.  In  the  neighborhood  lived  Mr. 
Caldwell,  an  eminent  Presbyterian  clergyman,  whose 
exertions  in  defence  of  his  country  had  rendered  him 
particularly  obnoxious  to  the  British.  Mrs.  Caldwell, 
seeing  the  enemy  advancing,  retired  with  lier  house- 
keeper, a  child  three  years  old,  an  infant  of  eight 


BRITISH    AND    INDIAN    BARBARirY.  26b 

months,  and  a  little  maid,  to  a  room  secnred  on  all 
sides  bj  stone  walls,  except  at  a  window  opposite  the 
enemj.  Unsuspicious  of  danger,  while  she  was  sit- 
ting on  the  bed,  holding  one  child  by  the  hand,  and 
wi'h  her  infant,  a  soldier  shot  her  dead,  who  had  evi- 
dently come  to  the  unguarded  part  of  the  house,  with 
a  design  to  perpetrate  the  horrid  deed."  When  the 
agents  of  the  British  government  leagued  themselves 
at  all  with  the  Indians,  they  committed  a  fearful  er- 
ror, but  when,  after  establishing  a  control  over  them, 
which  they  must  have  had,  as  they  furnished  them 
with  arms  and  ammunition,  they  allowed  them  to 
torture  their  prisoners  in  their  presence,  it  gave  to 
the  war  a  horrible  ferocity,  and  the  vengeance  that 
men  put  forth,  fell  chiefly  on  the  savages. 

Emphatic  were  Jefferson's  words.  "He  (George 
the  Third)  has  endeavored  to  bring  on  the  inhabitants 
of  our  frontiers  the  merciless  Indian  savages,  whose 
known  rule  of  warfare  is  an  undistinguished  destruc- 
tion of  all  ages,  sexes  and  conditions  ;  "  and  he  must 
have  alluded  to  this  when  he  speaks  of  the  Eevolu- 
tion  as  "begun  with  circumstances  of  cruelty  and 
perfidy,  scarcely  paralleled  in  the  most  barbarous  ages 
and  totally  unworthy  the  head  of  a  civilized  nation.  ' 
Jefferson  was  of  those  who  had  been  consulted,  when 
Gen.  Clarke  submitted  to  the  Governor  of  Virginia 
his  plan  for  the  protection  of  the  frontier,  and  it  is 
\uite  probable  that  Clarke  portrayed  to  Patrick  Hen 


264:  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BuONE. 

ry  and  to  Thomas  Jefferson  what  Boone  had  expcn 
enced,  and  what  testimony  Boone  had  borne  to  the  per 
fidious  character  of  the  Indian  ;  for  :f  all  those  whose 
evidence  had  reached  Clarke,  the  informat'on  of  none 
Had  been  more  accurate  than  that  derived  from  the 
great  Pioneer. 

The  memory  of  the  cruelties  sanctioned  by  the 
British  government,  was  one  great  reason  why  there 
lemained  —  and  it  is  not  yet  entirely  obliterated  — 
so  long  such  bitterness  of  feeling  on  the  part  of  our 
pe(3ple  against  the  English.  The  fair  open  fight  in 
battle,  with  the  British  soldier,  was  an  honorable 
warfare,  but  the  savage  gave  a  depth  of  horror  to  the 
war,  which  had  its  illustration  in  some  tradition  ot 
horror,  even  yet  to  be  traced  in  many  of  those  whose 
fathers  found  children  butchered  and  house  burnt  by 
the  wild  red  man. 

In  the  country  north-west  of  the  Ohio,  a  vile  rene- 
gade by  the  name  of  Girty,  not  merely  sustained  but 
encouraged  the  Indian  in  all  his  cruelty.  He  was  a 
Tory,  and  one  of  the  very  bitterest  of  the  foes  of  the 
white  man.  His  life  was  one  scene  of  wretched  bar- 
barities, except  that  on  one  occasion,  he  saved,  by  a 
caprice  of  humanity,  the  life  of  tlie  adventurous 
Kenton. 

Mr.  Peck  describes  him  as  "  an  Indian  by  adoption, 
imbibing  their  ferocious  and  blood-thirsty  temper  — 
having  acquired  their  habits,  and  inflaming  their  j)a9- 


THE    RENEGADE    GIRTT.  2G5 

sions  to  maflness  hy  Ihr  Rpeoches,  and  goading  tlioin 
to  vengeance ;  and  wlio  delighted  in  all  the  refine- 
ment of  Indian  torture."  Such  a  man  was  counte 
nanced  by  the  British  government,  as  he  professed  al 
legiance  to  them.  By  his  conduct  he  compromised, 
every  hour,  his  employers,  and  caused  the  war  of  the 
Revolution  to  pu<-  on  features  of  horror  that,  with  all 
its  evil,  do  not  belong  to  the  struggles  of  civilized  na- 
tions. ISTor  was  he  alone ;  a  man  whose  education 
was  probt^bly  much  better,  was  his  principal,  and  ob- 
tained a  great  influence  over  the  Indians.  Tliis  was 
Col.  Mc  Kv^e.  He  was  avowedly  an  official  agent  of 
the  British  government.  His  deeds  are  attested  by 
the  most  reliable  witnesses.  Exciting  to  murder  and 
torture,  he  ?et  in  motion  a  train  of  influences  which 
soon  becatae  so  wide-spread  that  even  he  could  not 
control  theiji. 

Great  Britain,  it  is  almost  certain,  would  not  again 
pursue  such  policy.  The  world  has  grown  better  and 
would  not  tolerate  such  conduct  in  a  State.  Her 
Indian  allies  in  the  Revolution  did  her  no  good.  The 
temporary  ^access  they  gained,  followed  by  all  its 
bitter  results  of  cruelty,  only  gave  new  force  and 
strength  to  tjiose  wdio  had  been  vanquished.  The  In- 
dian was  pi-)mpt  to  fly,  and  leave  his  allies  in  the 
field,  to  struggle  as  best  they  might.  The  savage 
fought  by  impulse.  If  he  could  strike  the  blow  at 
once,  he  gave  all  his  energies  to  it,  but  the  cool  and 


'2Q6  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

collected  defence  was  always  powerful  agamst  him 
1^'ar  better  would  it  have  been  for  our  common  hu- 
manity, if  the  Indian  had  been  set  aside  in  the  com- 
flict,  as  one  with  whom  no  alliance,  by  either  of  the 
parties  to  the  controversy,  could  be  made.  It  woul^ 
have  spared  us  many  a  fearful  legend. 

Encouraged  by  the  whites,  the  Indians  kept  the 
settlements  around  Boonesborough  in  a  state  of  con- 
stant alarm.  The  stations  were  continually  infested 
with  savages,  and  men  were  killed,  and  horses  stolen 
at  every  opportunity.  Again  the  settlers  met  with  a 
reverse.  A  party  headed  by  Capt.  Holden  was  de- 
feated, and  out  of  his  seventeen  men,  four  were  killed. 
Sometimes  the  savage  felt  keenly  the  blow  of  the  set- 
tler. Boone  relates  that  near  Lexington  an  Indian 
shot  a  man,  and  running  to  scalp  him,  was  himself 
shot  from  the  fort,  and  fell  dead  upon  his  enemy. 
Why  he  selects  this  incident  to  relate,  is  not  appa- 
rent. If  it  had  been  at  Boonesborough,  it  might 
have  been  only  the  record  of  the  unerring  aim  of  hie 
rifle. 

Again  there  was  a  gathering  at  old  Chillicothe  — 
that  same  place  which  had  witnessed  the  councils  and 
meetings  which  led  to  the  siege  of  Boonesborough. 
Instigated  by  the  authorities  at  Detroit,  and  by  the 
agents  scattered  about  in  their  country,  the  Sliawa- 
jaese,  Cherokees,  Wyandots,  Tawas,  and  Delawares, 
united  for  another  grand  demonstration  against  the 


ANOTHER   INDIAN   CONFEDERACY.  267 

settlements.  He  who  led  the  fight  at  Eoonesborcngh, 
and  who  had  there  made  such  etfoi'ts  to  get  possession 
of  his  adopted  son,— we  refer  to  Blackfish— had 
some  time  since  been  killed  in  Bowman's  expedition 
against  Chillicothe.  He  had  borne  himself  gallantly^ 
and  was  engaged  in  following  the  retreat  when  he 
was  destroyed.  Boone  did  not  feel  much  regret  a 
the  loss.  The  severe  education  which  he  had  received 
to  qualify  him  to  take  the  place  of  Blackfish's  son, 
who  had  been  killed  in  battle,  did  not  endear  the  re- 
lationship to  him.  It  is  quite  likely  that  had  Black- 
fish  caught  Boone,  no  ties  of  adoption  would  have 
prevented  him  from  presiding  at  his  torture. 

Imlay,  writing  about  1793,  thus  locates  the  Indians 
who  made  this  confederated  campaign  :  "The  Shaw- 
anese  in  five  towns  on  tlie  Great  or  Little  Miami ; 
Cherokees  on  the  Tennessee  River  ;  Wyandots  on  the 
Sandusky  River ;  Tawas,  eighteen  miles  up  the  Mau- 
mee  River;  Delawares  on  the  Muskingum  River." 
It  is  of  these  people  that  the  historian  says,  "  they 
are  of  a  very  gentle  and  amiable  (!)  disposition  to 
those  they  think  their  friends,  but  as  impljicable  in 
their  enmity  —  their  revenge  being  only  completed 
in  the  entire  destruction  of  their  enemies."  Of  the 
former  trait,  if  Mr.  Imlay's  observations  were  cor- 
rect, the  settlers  saw  but  littje,  whne  they  nad  the 
most  ample  reason  to  know  the  full  truth  of  the 
latter. 


268  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

At  old  Chillicothe  tliese  tribes  assembled  iheii 
choicest  warriors.  This  Indian  village  was  built  in 
the  form  of  a  Kentucky  station,  that  is,  parallelogram 
or  long  square,  and  some  of  the  houses  were  shingled. 
A  long  council-house  extended  the  whole  length  of 
the  town,  where  the  chieft  met  in  consultation.  The 
Indian  was  not  always  as  artistical  in  his  abode. 
Some  of  his  huts  were  built  by  setting  up  a  frame  on 
forks  and  placing  bark  upon  it.  Some  were  of  reeds, 
and  surrounded  with  clay.  The  fire  was  in  the  mid 
die  of  the  wigwam,  and  the  smoke  passed  through  a 
little  hole.  Their  tables  and  beds  were  of  reeds 
joined  together  by  cords  run  through  them.  The 
skins  of  the  wild  beasts  they  took  in  hunting  were 
used  for  clothing.  They  had  taken  European  habits 
enough  to  use  brass  kettles  and  pots  for  cooking  their 
food ;  while  their  pails,  cups,  and  dishes,  were,  ae 
those  of  their  fathers  may  have  been  for  ages,  of 
gourds  and  calabashes.  The  Indian,  in  all  this,  had 
traits  kindred  to  all  other  wild  men,  such  as  the  Arab 
and  the  Esquimaux. 

Boone  says  the  expedition  was  got  up  to  destroy 
the  settlers  and  to  depopulate  the  country ;  and  he 
properly  characterizes  it,  as  in  it  the  utmost  force  and 
vengeance  of  the  Indian  was  concentrated.  They 
hoped  to  crush  the  settlement  at  a  blow.  The  so^ 
Xlers,  as  they  came  in,  in  boat  and  by  horse,  seemed 
about  to  render  all  subjugation  of  the  country  hope- 


MR.    "-IRYANT    KILLE]3.  26& 


less. 


f  anything  could  be  done  to  bring  back  to 
them  their  old  hunting  ground,  it  was  necessary  to  do 
it  at  once.  Indians  have  no  provident  care,  and  their 
hunting  ground  must  be  large.  It  must  extend  over 
a  great  space,  for  they  could  not  economize  their  ef- 
forts. Mc  Clung  thinks  that  the  settlers  were  igno- 
rant of  the  storm  that  was  impending ;  but  it  does 
not  seem  probable  that  sucli  experienced  and  saga- 
cious men  as  Boone  and  those  with  whom  he  had 
been  longest  in  company,  should  at  any  time  be  un- 
prepared for  the  Indian.  He  knew  their  cunning, 
and  could  gather  by  the  manner  in  which  their  pre- 
liminary warfare  was  conducted  whether  they  were 
in  great  force  or  not.  The  appearance  of  men  of 
different  tribes,  or  the  absence  of  certain  chieftains, 
would  give  indication  of  what  was  transpiring  at 
Chillicothe. 

There  was  a  station  not  far  from  Boonesborough, 
which  was  called  Bryant's,  from  the  first  settler.  Ita 
date  was  as  early  as  1779,  and  its  founder,  William 
Bryant,  had  married  Boone's  sister.  This  man  fell  in 
an  attack  made  by  a  wandering  party  of  Indians  on 
the  twentieth  of  May.  By  a  want  of  concerted  ac- 
tion between  two  parties  of  the  settlers,  one  of  which 
was  led  by  Bryant,  the  latter  was  drawn  into  an  am- 
buscade, and  was  fatally  wounded.  A  slight  occur- 
rence led  to  this  sad  issue.  The  associate  party  had 
^Deen   surprised  by  Indians,   and  had  abandoned  to 


270 


LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 


them  a  led  horse,  on  which  a  bell  was  hung.  N3t 
knowing  this,  Bryant  rode  to  where  he  heard  the  bell, 
and  was  killed.  Thus  was  added  to  the  list  of  the 
kindred  of  Boone  who  fell  by  the  warfare  of  the  sav 
age,  another  ;  and  thus  another  affliction  followed  up- 
on the  sad  loss  of  his  beloved  brother.  It  was  to  be 
but  one  in  a  series  of  personal  griefs. 


CHAPTEK  XV, 

m  ATTACK  ON  BRYANt's  STATION— THE  RETREAT  OF  TKE  INDIANS  —  lUZ." 
LT  OF  THE  SETTLERS  — THE  COUNCIL  —  THE  PURSUIT  —  THE  AMBU8CADI 
—  BATTLE  OF  THE  BLUE  LICKS  —  TERRIBLE  SLAUGHTER  AND  RETRBAT  Of 
THE  SETTLERS  — ANOTHER  OF  BOONE's  SONS  SLAIN— TODD,  TRIGG,  HAR- 
LAN, AND  SIXTY -SEVEN  OTHERS  SLAIN  —  BOONe's  ACCOUNT- A  THRILLING 
INCIDENT  — BOONe's  REPORT  OF  THE  BATTLE  —  COL.  THOMAS  MARSHALL 
AND  GIRTY's  brother. 

Bryant's  station  soon  heard  the  noise  of  the  war- 
rior again.  If  Boone's  sister  remained  there,  she 
must  have  felt  that  war  was  pursuing  her.  It  is  pro- 
bable,  however,  that  she  sought,  after  her  husband's 
death,  the  protection  of  her  brother  and  the  society 
of  his  family. 

On  the  fifteenth  of  August  a  party  of  Indians  and 
Canadians,  of  five  hundred,  led  by  Girty  A^ho  added 
the  vigor  of  purpose  and  reflection  of  th  white  man 
to  the  savage  cruelty  of  the  Indian,  appv^<ired  before 
Bryant's  station ;  and  after  a  very  warm  fight,  in 
which  Girty  was  wounded,  and  in  which  the  Indiana 
were  admirably  drawn  into  an  ambuscade,  the  siege 
was  raised.  The  Indians  sufi'ered  severely,  having 
^.hirty  killed,  while  the  garrison  lost  but  four.  Girty 
endeavored  to  alarm  the  garrison  by  assuring  them 


272  I.IFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

that  he  had  a  reinforcement  near,  with  \yhom  waa 
artillery.  This  caused  a  drcad,^for  the  settlei-s  feared 
nothing  so  much  as  the  cannon.  His  talk  was  treated 
with  contempt.  He  was  told  by  a  young  man  named 
Reynolds,  that  he  was  known ;  that  he  (Reynolds) 
had  a  worthless  dog  to  whom  he  had  given  the  name 
of  Simon  Girty,  from  the  great  resemblance  !  Girty 
professed  to  be  about  to  destroy  the  garrison,  but  it 
was  a  feint.  He  suddenly  left,  and  inviting  pursuit 
by  blazing  the  trees  with  their  tomahawks  as  they 
progressed,  he  and  his  confederate,  Mc  Kee,  departed 
by  the  buffalo  trace  for  the  Blue  Licks. 

Boone  now  appears  in  the  field  again.  The  news 
of  the  attack  by  Girty,  flew  with  all  the  speed  the 
express  messenger  (of  those  days)  could  give  it. 
Boonesborough  immediately  sent  out  its  warriors. 
Some  had  been  sent  in  order  to  reach  the  fort  to  be 
present  at  the  siege. 

By  the  exertions  of  the  colonel  of  the  Lincoln  regi- 
ment. Col.  Todd,  Boone,  Col.  Trigg,  and  Maj.  Har- 
lan—  the  troops  from  Harrodsburgh,  Lexington  and 
Boonesborough  rapidly  assembled  at  Bryant's  station. 
Boone  was  accompanied  by  his  son,  Israel,  and  hia 
brother,  Samuel. 

The  exigencies  of  the  occasion  demanded  a  council 
of  war  ;  for,  as  the  immediate  occasion  of  the  rally 
had  passed  away,  in  the  retreat  of  the  savages,  the 
next  step  to  be  taken  was  seriously  important.   Among 


A   COUNCn     OF   WAR.  2Ti. 

the  officers  were  Harlan,  McGarj,  McBride,  anc 
Levi  Todd. 

Maj.  Harlan  was  a  soldier  to  whom  this  high  praise 
was  given,  that  Gen.  Clarke  said  of  him  that  "  he  was 
one  of  the  bravest  and  most  accomplished  soldiers 
that  ever  fought  by  his  side."  In  1778.  he  built  a 
Btockade  on  Salt  Kiver,  to  which  his  name  was  given. 
He  was  of  superb  appearance,  and  in  the  commence- 
ment of  the  prime  of  life.  Familiar,  by  having  long 
acted  the  perilous  part  of  a  spy  among  the  Indians, 
with  all  Indian  warfare,  he  was  invaluable  to  the 
gathering  forces. 

Hugh  McGary  had  been  one  of  the  earliest  settlers 
of  Harrodsburgh,  a  spot  which  has  disputed  the  palm 
of  precedence,  in  the  settlement  of  Kentucky,  with 
Boonesborough.  McGary  is  described  by  Collins  as 
ardent,  impetuous  and  rash,  but  a  man  of  daring 
courage,  indomitable  energy  and  untiring  perseve- 
ran.ce.  He  brought  into  the  country  forty  horses,  but 
was  singularly  unsuccessful  with  them,  nearly  every 
one  of  them  being  stolen  by  the  Indians.  Living  as 
he  did  so  long  in  the  society  of  James  Harrod,  who 
built  the  first  log  cabin  in  Kentucky,  he  needed  to  be 
active,  for  that  brave  man  was  surpassed  by  none  of 
the  settlers  in  boldness  and  rapid  action.  Even  when 
the  storm  of  war  was  over,  and  when  the  land  was 
quiet,  he  preferred  the  stirring  chase  to  all  otlier  piir* 

Buits,  and  at  last  died  a  hunter's  death,  in  tlie  wilder 
L*  18 


274  LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

ness.     McGary  had  ample  occasion  in  siicli  companj 
for  the  exercise  of  all  his  zeal. 

Levi  Todd  had  made  his  settlements  earlj  in  the 
country,  and  became,  in  after  life,  distinguished 
among  the  early  settlers.  Tlie  conmiand  was  taken 
by  Col.  Todd.  Of  this  gentleman  the  historians  speak 
in  high  eulogy.  lie  had,  in  the  famous  severe  win 
ter  of  1780,  manifested  his  disposition  to  kindness  in 
an  incident  which  is  of  interest.  The  provisions  of 
the  fort  at  Lexington  became  exhausted,  and  when 
the  Colonel  returned  home  one  night,  with  his  favor- 
ite body  servant,  George,  a  piece  of  bread  about  two 
inches  square  and  a  gill  of  milk  were  all  that  his  wife 
could  offer  him.  He  turned  the  proffer  aside,  and 
insisted  that  George  should  have  it.  He  had  been  a 
representative  in  the  Virginia  Legislature  of  the  Ken- 
tucky district.  His  visit  to  Kentucky  was  owing  to 
the  description  given  of  its  value  and  fertility  by 
Boone.  He  then  joined  Henderson's  party,  and  after 
that  claim  broke  up,  went  into  the  immediate  service 
of  Virginia. 

Col.  Trigg  was  also  an  officer  in  this  force.  He 
had  come  in  as  a  member  of  the  famous  Land  Com- 
mission, and  the  exhibit  which  he  heard  and  saw  on 
every  side  of  the  riches  of  the  land,  induced  him  to 
remain.  He  was  noted  for  his  activity ,  among  the 
Indians.  Hie  memory  is  preserved  as  among  the 
noblest  of  the  pioneers. 


rrS   DELIiJEKATIONS.  275 

The  fight  of  the  day  before,  had  stirred  np  the  blood 
af  the  settlers.  The  fact  that  McKee  and  Girty  were 
with  a  body  of  Indians  so  numerous  and  powerful, 
showed  that  a  bold  blow  was  determined  upon,  as  in- 
deed it  was  quite  likely,  was  anticipated  by  Boone. 
Tlie  Indians  led  by  the  whites,  were  moie  dangerous 
than  when  trusting  to  Indian  tactics  alone.  The 
threat  of  artillery  had  not  been  overlooked.  While 
it  might  be  but  the  bravado  of  Girty,  as  the  Indians 
were  in  full  alliance  w^ith  the  British,  if  the  latter 
could  furnish  the  savages  with  so  powerful  an  arm  of 
attack,  there  would  be  no  scruple  about  it.  It  would 
be  a  great  movement  for  the  royalists,  to  break  up 
this  new  country  in  the  midst  of  the  war. 

In  determining  what  was  to  be  done,  it  was  a  se- 
rious point  in  consideration  that  the  force  of  Colonel 
Logan  had  not  arrived.  The  character  of  Col.  Logan 
was  so  well  established  in  bravery,  that  it  was  not  for 
one  moment  doubted  but  that  the  instant  he  had 
heard  tlie  alarm  he  had  prepared  to  join  the  warriors. 
Col.  Logan  was  a  Virginian  —  by  bravery  and  chiv- 
alry a  fit  representation  of  the  cavaliers.  He  had,  in 
the  colonial  service,  prepared  himself  in  the  duties  of 
a  soldier,  and  when  he  came  to  Kentucky,  which  he 
did  in  the  famous  year,  1776,  he  was  one  of  those  who 
mos":  successfully  dared  the  fearful  perils  of  the  woods, 
and  he  experienced  them  to  a  terrible  degree.  Hia 
Uttle  station  was  in  one  series  of  wild  alarms,  and  th*j 


276  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

{ndian   seemed   never   wearied  of  endeavors  to  cut 
him  off'. 

Everything  was  in  haste.  The  Indians  were  to  bo 
pursued  —  that  was  certain.  But  it  was  equally  cer 
tain  to  those  who  united  good  judgment  with  their 
zeal,  that  it  would  be  far  better  to  await  the  coming 
of  Logan,  so  that  the  blow  struck  might  be  a  sure  one. 
In  this  opinion  Boone  was,  and  he  avowed  it.  Now, 
of  all  men  gathered  there,  it  was  to  Boone  that  a  sa- 
gacious leader  would  have  looked  for  information.  It 
was  at  and  near  the  Blue  Licks  that  Boone  had  hunt- 
ed, and  watched,  and  traversed,  till  all  its  hohls  and 
fastnesses  were  known  to  him.  Boone  had  conquered 
the  Indians;  had  been  their  cap'^ve  and  their  master, 
and  his  coolness  and  courage  had  never  deserted  him. 
There  were  none,  however,  of  the  council  ol  war,  who 
insisted  upon  going  forward  at  once.  A  relative  of 
Boone  stated  to  Mr.  Peck  —  and  the  fact  was  proba- 
bly obtained  from  the  Pioneer  —  that  the  officer  in 
command.  Col.  Todd,  had  estimated  that  Boone's  pru- 
dential counsels  were  those  of  cowardice  ;  and  if  the 
arrival  of  Logan  was  waited  for,  Logan  would  gain 
all  the  glory  of  the  pursuit. 

There  are,  in  every  part  of  the  world,  those  found 
who  seek  by  artful  reports  to  create  dissension  and 
unhappiness  among  tliose  associated  in  any  high  or 
honorable  purpose  ;  and  it  is  quite  probable  that  some 
tale-bearer  invented  this  story,  perverting  the  wordi 


DISAGREEMENT   AMONG   THE   OFFICERS.  277 

Df  Col.  Todd,  and  convoying  the  colored  statement  to 
Boone.  Brave  men  do  not  doubt  brave  men.  Col. 
Todd  had,  for  too  many  years,  known  the  noble  zeal 
and  determined  bravery  of  the  Pioneer  —  who  neve* 
stood  back  from  danger  of  beast  or  man  —  to  doubt 
him  then. 

A  gentleman  who,  from  his  age,  may  be  supposed 
to  have  known  by  the  account  of  the  day  the  facts  in 
the  case,  informs  Collins  that  he  utterly  discredits  the 
statement  that  Todd  was  disposed  to  hurry  the  action, 
m  any  fear  of  Logan's  acquisition  of  fame  by  beino' 
the  leader,  and  this  would  seem  most  in  consonancvj 
with  tlie  true  bravery  of  an  old  warrior  like  Todd. 

In  the  noise  and  excitement  of  a  siege,  men  do  not 
make  accurate  account  of  their  foes.  The  duty  of 
the  present  instant  is  all  that  mind  or  sense  knows. 
Girty's  boast  that  his  troops  far  outnumbered  tlie  set- 
tlers was  forgotten  or  despised,  in  their  hatred  of  liim, 
but  these  frontier  men  could  not  overlook  the  fact  of 
his  blazing  liis  w^ay  as  he  retreated.  Tliis  seemed 
like  a  willingness  to  be  pursued,  whicli  the  Indian 
leaders  never  would  have  manifested,  if  tliey  had  not 
been  proud  in  their  numbers,  for  no  men  were  mora 
cautious  of  exposing  themselves  than  were  the  In- 
iians.  Every  sign  reported  by  tlie  spies  taugh 
Boone  that  this  was  an  hour  of  danger,  and  that  pru- 
dence and  caution  are  worth  a  victory,  lie  knew  ])y 
his  own  success  against  the  savage,  how  much  is  gain 


278  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

p<l  in  war  by  being  brave  enough  to  wa.^.  His  true 
Boldier  mind  recognized  the  same  great  jrinciple 
which  tanght  Wellington  to  win  "Waterloo  l^y  endu- 
rance. He  was  asked  his  judgment,  and  ..n  gave  it. 
According  to  McClung,  he  told  them  of  the  make  of 
the  country,  and  his  belief  that  an  ambuscade  was  i"  - 
tended,  for  he  knew  that  the  Indian  relies  on  nothing 
BO  much  as  seizing  his  enemy  at  a  disadvantage. 

In  our  own  day,  the  surprise  of  the  gallant  Major 
Dade,  by  the  Seminoles,  was  in  the  same  strategy. 
There  the  ambuscade  was  entirely  successful.  The 
Indian  does  not  change.  A  decaying  race  have  little 
inducement  to  learn  new  arts  in  peace  or  war.  Boone 
had  a  solemn  destiny  connected  with  this  locality.  It 
had  been  to  him  a  point  of  the  utmost  sorrow  and 
peril,  and  if  the  incidents  of  a  locality  could  be  forci- 
bly imprinted  on  the  mind,  these  must  have  been. 
In  his  account  of  the  battle,  Boone  observes  that  he 
was  ignorant  of  the  numbers  of  the  foe.  Had  his 
plan  of  sending  out  men  to  learn  all  this,  been  pur- 
Bued,  the  settlers  would  have  neither  given  or  re- 
ceived a  blow  in  the  dark.  Had  volunteers  been 
called  for  to  undertake  the  perilous  duty  of  ascertain- 
ing who  and  where  was  the  enemy,  the  experience 
of  his  life  shows  that  he  would  have  been  among 
those  who  wou^d  have  discharged»such  duty. 

While  the  council  was  deliberating,  the  rashness 
ff  one  man  ended  the  argument.     McGary  giving 


279 

the  warwlioop,  in  defiance  of  all  discipline,  nttorod 
the  stinging  taunt  that  all  who  Avere  not  coward  a 
BhoLild  folbw  him.  He  would  show  where  the  In- 
dian was.  At  the  time,  such  words  seem  those  of 
bravery,  but  the  courage  that  is  sudden  and  ardent, 
is  of  the  lesser  and  lower  grade.  The  calm  resolution 
and  thorough  action  conbined,  is  the  real  heroism 
Of  course,  as  would  be  the  case  in  a  gathering  ot 
frontier-men  with  rifle  in  hand,  a  large  part  of  the  de- 
tachment followed  the  hasty  McGary.  Todd  and 
Boone  did  not,  and  the  fact  that  Todd  remained  with 
Boone  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the  two  were  im- 
bued with  each  other's  sentiments,  and  understood 
the  value  of  deliberate  action. 

The  proposition  to  examine  the  country  was  again 
renewed,  and  the  buffalo  trace  and  its  vicinity  were, 
as  the  scouts  supposed,  thoroughly  examined.  There 
was  here  a  remarkable  bend  of  the  Licking  Eiver, 
and  Boone  knew  how  likely  the  ravines  adjacent 
would  be  chosen  as  the  place  for  the  surprise  to  be 
concealed. 

He  knew  that  the  buffalo  path  would  lead  the  ar- 
my between  the  places  most  likely  to  afford  conceal- 
ment to  the  Indians,  and  when  the  scouts  returned 
and  reported  the  way  to  be  clear,  while  it  encouraged 
the  impetuous,  Boone  could  not  be  so  easily  satisfied. 
The  whole  affair  looked  suspicious,  but  he  took  hia 
place  in  line  of  battle.     The  spies  had  reported  thai 


280  LIPE   OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

they  could  find  no  Indians,  while  in  fact  the  grass  b} 
their  side  was  quivering  with  their  mov^ements. 
Tliej  had  gone  behind  the  river  hills  on  either  side 
of  the  horse-shoe  ;  while  a  few  of  their  number  were 
concealed  in  the  right-hand  hollow.  To  Col.  Todd 
as  belonged  to  his  rank,  the  command  of  the  centre 
WhS  assigned,  while  Col.  Trigg  took  the  right,  and 
the  left  was  led  by  Boone.  In  full  confidence  that 
they  were  marching  towards  the  Indians,  but  not 
among  them,  Trigg's  men  moved  on.  In  the  grass, 
with  all  the  exultation  of  men  who  were  sure  of  their 
foe,  the  Indians  lay  —  rifles  ready,  and  selecting  their 
men.  As  the  settlers  came  up,  suddenly  this  fire 
broke  out  upon  them.  It  was  unexpected,  and  proved 
to  all,  in  a  moment,  that  they  were  in  an  ambuscade, 
and  that  their  spies  had  been  useless.  Following  up 
this  first  fire,  the  Indians  on  the  right  side  poured  in 
iheir  discharge.  The  effect  was  most  disastrous,  for 
it  gave  the  Indian  the  belief  that  his  policy  of  a  bold 
blow  at  the  onset  was  to  be  successful.  Todd  and  Harlan 
with  their  men,  as  Trigg's  battalion  broke,  received 
the  fire,  and  the  loss  was  terrible.  The  four  hundred 
warriors  that  were  in  the  ravines,  and  in  tlie  woods, 
broke  forth,  like  Roderick  Dhu's  men,  and  by  tlie 
carnage  of  that  moment  Kentucky  mourned  for  many 
a  year.  But  tremendous  as  the  attack  was,  it  was 
met  with  the  courage  of  warriors.  Col.  Todd  re- 
mained on  his  horse,  with  the  blood  flowing  from 


DEFEAT    OF   THE    SETTLERS,  28i 

mortal  wonnds.  Boone  defended  his  position,  and 
fonglit  on  with  all  the  desperate  energy  that  distin- 
guished him,  while  Major  Harlan  could  find  but 
three  of  his  men  spared  hj  the  rifle. 

During  all  the  frenzy  of  this  fearful  fifteen  minutes, 
the  Indians  exhausted  all  their  powers  in  every  de- 
vice of  horror.  The  yell  was  raised  in  all  its  hide- 
ousness,  while  the  tomahawk  flashed  in  every  instant, 
in  its  cruel  blows. 

"  From  the  battle  ground  to  the  river  the  spectacle 
was  terrible.  The  horsemen  generally  escaped,  but 
the  foot,  particularly  the  men  who  had  ventured  far- 
thest within  the  wings  of  the  net,  were  almost  en- 
tirely destroyed.  Col.  Boone,  after  witnessing  the 
death  of  his  son  and  many  of  his  dearest  friends,  found 
himself  almost  entirely  surrounded  at  the  very  com- 
mencement of  the  retreat." 

Several  hundred  Indians  were  between  him  and 
the  ford,  to  which  the  great  mass  of  the  fugitives  were 
bending  their  flight.  He,  knowing  the  ground  well, 
dashed  into  the  ravine.  Sustaining  two  or  three 
heavy  fires,  and  escaping  pursuit,  he  crossed  the 
ford  by  swimming,  and  as  he  knew  the  woods  with 
consummate  sagacity,  succeeded  in  the  escape. 

The  troops  and  the  Indians  mingling  in  the  river 
the  slaughter  was  terrible.     The  Indians,  fierce  with 
the  belief  that  they  were  victors,  used  their  momen 
of  triumph  with  awful  execution. 


3S2  LIFE    DF   DAl^^IEL   BOOKE. 

The  courage  and  coolness  of  a  Mr.  T^etherland  —  a 
uanio  since  that  time  distinguished  in  Tennessee  — 
arrested  the  slaughter,  by  taking  a  bold  stand  and 
rallying  those  who  were  in  flight.  Tlie  time  thus 
gained  gave  opportunity  for  the  pursued  to  get  from 
the  reach  of  the  enemy.  Mr.  Netherland  had  before 
this  been  accused  of  cowardice.  The  result  prove 
that  he  had  in  him  the  courage  of  one  who,  in  the 
hour  of  extreme  danger,  becomes  a  rallying  point  to 
retrieve  the  battle.  A  young  man  by  the  name  of 
Reynolds  performed  a  deed  for  which  Eoman  annals 
would  have  immortalized  him.  Releasing  his  chance 
of  escape,  he  generously  saved  tho  life  of  Capt.  Pat- 
terson, and  himself  became  a  captive,  and  then  even 
from  the  Indian's  grasp,  rescued  himself  Such  pages 
are  found  in  western  history. 

The  battle  brought  its  peculiar  blow  to  Boone. 
While  his  own  life  a  merciful  Providence  spared,  he 
now  found  another  son  a  victim  to  the  forest  peril, 
while  his  brother  Samuel  was  severely  wounded. 
The  shot  of  the  savage  had  been  but  too  certain, 
to  his  son,  and  while  using  every  effort  to  bear 
him  off,  the  Pioneer  found  that  the  only  duty  be 
fore  him  was  to  save  himself.  He  left  his  son,  con- 
scious that  the  cruelty  of  the  Indian  could  only  wreak 
vengeance  on  his  corpse.  lie  felt  that  he  had  every 
risk  of  capture  himself.  A  bloody  and  exulting  troop 
of  savages,  rejoicing  in  a  terrible  victory,  was  all 


DEATH    OF   BOONE's    SON.  283 


* 


around  In'm.  and  the  station  was  a  long  distanofl 
away.  But  he  knew  where  every  place  of  conceal- 
ment was,  and  he  pressed  on  to  be,  if  possible,  in 
time  to  defend  the  settlements ;  for  he  thought  that 
the  Lidian  would  follow  up  the  blow  as  rapidly  and 
as  boldly  as  possible.  On  his  way  with  his  son'g 
body  —  bleeding  and  dying  — he  felt  the  Indians' 
vengeance,  for  a  very  large  savage  sprang  towards 
him.  Up  gleamed  the  tomahawk  ;  but  it  was  a  pass- 
mg  triumph,  for  the  heroic  man  stopped,  relinquished 
for  a  moment  his  grasp  of  his  expiring  son,  and  with 
his  unerring  rifle  shot  the  Indian.  They  ventured 
into  the  lion's  path  who  came  across  the  purposes  of 
Boone,  in  such  circumstances.  He  felt  the  bitter  an- 
guish of  losing  another  son  —  one,  too,  who  had  been 
fighting  in  the  front  when  he  fell — and  remembering, 
as  he  did  that  if  his  advice  had  been  taken,  and  the 
wise  and  soldierlike  course  of  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
Col.  Logan  had  been  pursued,  this  terrible  tragedy 
would  not  have  been  enacted.  All  this  grieved  him 
sadly,  and  during  his  long  life  its  painful  memories 
did  not  pass  away.  Thrice  had  the  Blue  Licks  been 
to  him  a  scene  of  the  greatest  peril  and  loss  —  his 
own  life  endangered,  and  that  of  those  dearest  to  him 
suddenly  and  mournfully  terminated. 

Boone  describes  the  loss  of  the  Americans  as  sixty- 
seven,  and  Todd,  Trigg  and  Harlan  were  of  these. 
A^ssuredlv,  the  last  blow  struck  by  the  Indian  for  the 


284:  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    B00N:E. 

rocoverj  of  his  hiinKng  nfroiinds,  was  a  bloovly  one, 
It  thrilled  througli  Kentucky.  The  Indians  enumer 
ated  their  loss  as  exceedh^g  that  of  tlie  whites  by  four, 
and  "therefore,''  Boone  says,  "four  of  tlie  prisoners 
they  had  taken  were,  by  general  consent,  ordered  tc 
be  killed  in  a  most  barbarous  manner  by  the  young 
warriors,  in  order  to  train  them  up  to  cruelty,  and 
then  they  proceeded  to  their  towns." 

Such  were  the  bitter  results  of  the  rashness  of  those 
who  disregarded  the  advice  of  Boone.  Most  proba- 
ble is  it,  that  of  the  general  great  fame  of  the  Pio- 
neer for  consummate  knowledge  of  the  Indian  and 
the  Indian  country,  they  were  jealous,  and  determin- 
ed to  show  him  that  they  could  conduct  a  warfare 
against  the  savages,  even  against  his  judgment.  This 
battle  of  the  Blue  Licks  would  not  have  occupied 
such  mournful  pages  in  the  history  of  Kentucky,  if 
he  had  been  tlie  general  in  command,  who  liad  shown 
himself  master  of  the  Indian  wherever  he  had  met 
him. 

The  modesty  and  tlie  disinterestedness  of  the  true 
Boldier  is  seen  in  Boone's  narrative.  He  gives  no 
record  to  blame  of  those  who  pushed  on  the  disastrous 
and  rash  movement,  but  laments  and  lionojs  the  brave 
men  who  took  their  bold  part  in  the  fight 

Boone's  escape  from  the  Indians  added  another  to 
the  many  extraordinary  adventures  which  naaJ^'e?  his 
history  like  the  stories  of  the  deeds  of  oV    »V'*  r^.'*- » 


285 

D«^  ^xl  sKe  Tiver,  after  he  knew  that  he  had  lost  hia 
son,  an<i  w\3  separated  from  the  troops  ;  but,  know- 
ing all  the  paths,  he  pushed  on,  rising  over  his  ca 
lamity  and  his  regrets,  and  indicated  his  claim  to 
g'reatness  by  turning  aside  from  sucli  sorrows  to 
strike  another  blow  for  the  living.  His  narrative 
details  that  — 

"On  our  retreat,  we  were  met  by  Col.  Logan,  hastening 
to  join  us,  with  a  number  of  well  armed  men.  This  power- 
ful assistance  we  unfortunately  wanted  in  the  battle  ;  for, 
notwithstanding  the  enemy's  superiority  of  numbers,  they 
acknowledged  that,  if  they  had  received  one  more  fire  from 
us,  they  should  undoubtedly  have  given  way.  So  valiantly  did 
our  small  party  fight,  that,  to  the  memory  of  those  who  un- 
fortunately fell  in  the  battle,  enough  honor  cannot  be  paid. 
Had  Col.  Logan  and  his  party  been  with  us,  it  is  highly 
probable  we  should  have  given  the  savages  a  total  defeat.  I 
cannot  reflect  upon  this  dreadful  scene,  but  sorrow  fills  my 
heart.  A  zeal  for  the  defence  of  their  country  led  these  he- 
roes to  the  scene  of  action,  though  with  a  few  men  to  attack 
a  powerfiil  army  of  experienced  warriors.  When  we  gave 
way,  they  pursued  us  with  the  utmost  eagerness,  and  in 
every  quarter  spread  destruction.  The  river  was  difficult  to 
cross,  and  many  were  killed  in  the  flight,  some  just  entering 
the  river,  some  in  the  water,  others  after  crossing,  in  ascend- 
ing the  cliffs.  Some  escaped  on  horseback,  a  few  on  foot ; 
and,  being  dispersed  everywhere  in  a  few  hours,  brought  the 
melancholy  news  of  this  unfortunate  battle  to  Lexington. 
Many  widows  were  now  made.  Sorrow,  the  reader  may 
guess,  filled  the  her.rlsof  the  inhabitants,  exceeding  anything 
I  am   ablo  to  describe.     Being  reinforced,  we  returned  to 


L86  LIFE   OF   DAKIEL   BOONE. 

bur  the  dead,  and  found  the  bodies  strewed  everywhere, 
cut  and  mangled  in  a  dreadful  manner.  This  mournful  scenfl 
exhibited  a  horror  almost  unparalleled.  Some  torn  and 
eaten  by  wild  beasts,  those  in  the  river  eaten  by  fishes,  all 
in  such  a  putrified  condition  that  no  one  could  be  distin- 
guished  from  another." 

In  various  traditions  are  preserved  the  incidents  c  f 
this  fatal  day.  It  was  utterly  unexpected  to  the  Ken- 
tuckians  that  any  of  the  Indian  expeditions,  when 
called  to  contend  against  such  officers  as  Todd,  and 
Trigg,  and  Harlan,  could  result  disastrously.  To  the 
different  stations  and  forts,  the  news  of  that  day 
brought  orphanage  and  widowhood.  The  Indian  had 
left  his  last  fatal  mark  behind  him.  Judge  Robert- 
son, in  an  address  delivered  at  a  place  named  in  hon- 
or of  one  of  Kentucky's  braves  —  Gov.  George  Madi- 
son—  relates  the  following  incident,  which  is  of  ex^ 
ceeding  interest : 

"  On  the  long  roll  of  that  day's  reported  slain,  (the  fatal 
battle  of  the  Blue  Licks,)  were  the  names  of  a  few  who  had 
in  fact  been  captured,  and,  after  surviving  the  ordeal  of  the 
gauntlet,  had  been  permitted  to  live  as  captives.  Among 
these  an  excellent  husband  and  father,  with  eleven  other 
captives,  had  been  taken  by  a  tribe,  and  painted  black,  as  the 
signal  of  torture  and  death  to  all.  The  night  after  the  bat- 
tle, these  twelve  prisoners  were  stripped  and  placed  in  a  line 
on  a  log  ;  he  to  whom  we  have  specially  alluded,  being  at 
one  extremity  of  the  devoted  row.  The  cruel  captors  then 
beginnrag  at  the  other  end,  slaughtered  eleven,  one  by  OLe, 


AFFECTING    INCIDENT.  28  < 

But  when  they  came  to  the  only  survivor,  though  they  laised 
nim  up  also,  and  drew  their  bloody  knives  to  strike  under  each 
uplifted  arm,  they  paused,  and  after  a  long  powwow,  spared  his 
life  —  why,  he  never  knew.  For  about  a  year  none  of  hia 
friends,  except  his  faithful  wife,  doubted  his  death.  She., 
hoping  against  reason,  still  insisted  that  he  lived,  and  would 
yet  return  to  ner.  Wooed  by  another,  she,  from  time  to 
time  postponed  the  nuptials,  declaring  that  she  could  not  di- 
vest herself  of  the  belief  that  her  husband  survived.  Her 
expostulating  friends  finally  succeeding  in  their  efforts  to 
stifle  her  affectionate  instinct,  she  reluctantly  yielded,  and  the 
nuptial  day  was  fixed.  But  just  before  it  dawned,  the  crack 
of  a  rifle  was  heard  near  her  lonely  cabin ;  at  the  familiar 
sound  she  leaped  out,  like  a  liberated  fawn,  ejaculating,  as 
she  sprang,  "  That's  John's  gun  !  "  It  was  John's  gun,  sure 
enough,  and  in  an  instant  she  was  once  more  in  her  lost  hus- 
band's arms.  But  nine  years  afterwards  that  same  husband 
fell  in  St.  Clair's  defeat,  and  the  same  disappointed,  but  per- 
severing lover,  renewed  his  suit,  and  at  last  the  widow  be- 
came his  wife." 


Boone,  as  the  surviving  oflScer  in  command  of 
the  county  regiment,  communicated  an  official  report 
of  the  battle  to  Benjamin  Harrison,  Governor  of  Yir 
ginia,  and  the  father  of  the  illustrious  William  Henry 
Harrison,  to  whose  young  years  the  stories  of  these 
frontier  lights  gave  quick  thought  of  daring  in  tho 
same  field.  In  many  respects  Harrison  and  Boong 
had  kindred  qualities.  Both  were  of  the  class  of  meu 
who  held  their  place  in  public  affairs  when  tJio  war 
cry  was  most  immediate  ard  cruel. 


288  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

Tlie  report  delineates,  in  few  words,  the  battle  — 
never  uttering  one  word  of  Ids  own  services.  Pass- 
ing from  the  description  of  the  action,  he  vividly  de- 
lineates the  exposed  condition  of  the  country — its 
scattered  and  liin-ited  soldiery  —  and  urges  a  strong 
reinforcement.  He  describes  the  danger  as  so  press- 
ing upon  the  people,  under  the  fearful  influences  of 
the  recent  disastrous  fight.  He  says,  "  I  have  en- 
couraged the  people  in  this  county  all  I  could,  but  I 
can  no  longer  justify  them  or  myself  in  risking  our 
lives  here  under  such  extraordinary  hazards.  If  the 
Indians  bring  another  campaign  into  the  country  this 
fall,  it  will  break  up  the  settlements."  Boone  spoke 
his  own  views  in  this,  for  he  expressly  says  that  he 
consulted  no  person.  He  dates  his  report  from 
Boone's  station,  August  30th,  1782.  To  such  extrem- 
ities was  the  frontier  reduced,  even  at  the  period 
when,  by  great  emigration,  the  country  had  seemed  to 
be  passing  into  the  rest  and  security  of  the  more  east- 
erly towns.  The  Indian  knew  the  glory  and  riches 
of  the  country  for  which  he  was  fighting  such  deadly 
battles,  and  crowded  all  his  energies  to  retake  it. 
Thus  was  Kentucky,  in  terrible  truth,  the  Dark  and 
Bloody  Ground. 

"  Boone's  Station,  Fayette  Co.,  ) 
August  30lh,  1782.  ) 

"  Sir,  —  Present  circumstances  of  affairs  cause  me  to  write 
to  your  excellency  as  follows:     On  the  IGth  instant,  a  large 


iiAiiiiisoN.  289 

number  of  Iiullaus,  with  some  white  men,  attacked  one  of 
our  frontier  stations,  known  by  the  name  of  Bryant's  Station. 
The  siege  continued  from  about  sunrise  till  about  two  o'clock 
the  next  day,  when  they  marched  off.  Notice  being  given 
to  the  neighboring  stations,  we  immediately  raised  one 
hundred  and  eighty-one  horsemen,  commanded  by  Colonel 
John  Todd,  including  some  of  the  Lincoln  county  militia, 
commanded  by  Colonel  Trigg,  and  pursued  about  forty 
miles. 

"On  the  19th  instant,  we  discovered  the  enemy  lying  in 
vait  for  us.  On  this  discovery,  we  formed  one  column  into 
one  single  line,  and  marched  up  in  their  front,  within  about 
forty  yards,  before  there  was  a  gun  fired.  Col.  Trigg  com- 
manded on  the  right,  myself  on  the  left,  Maj.  McGary  inthe 
centre,  and  Maj.  Harlan  the  advanced  party  in  front.  From 
the  manner  in  which  we  had  formed,  it  fell  to  my  lot  to 
bring  on  the  attack.  This  was  done  with  a  very  heavy  fire 
on  both  sides,  and  extended  back  of  the  line  to  Col.  Trigg, 
where  the  enemy  was  so  strong  they  rushed  up,  and  broke 
the  right  wing  at  the  first  fire.  Thus  the  enemy  got  in 
our  rear,  with  the  loss  of  seventy-seven  of  our  men, 
and  twelve  wounded.  Afterwards,  we  were  reinforced  by 
Col.  Logan,  which  made  our  force  four  hundred  and  sixty 
•men. 

"  We  marched  again  to  the  battle  ground;  but,  finding 
the  enemy  had  gone,  we  proceeded  to  bury  the  dead. 

"  We  found  forty-three  on  the  ground,  and  many  lay  about, 
which  we  could  not  stay  to  find,  hungry  and  weary  as  we 
were,  and  somewhat  dubious  that  the  enemy  might  not  have 
gone  off  quite.  By  the  sign,  we  thought  that  the  Indians  had 
exceeded  four  hundred  ;  while  the  whole  of  the  militia  of 
the  county  does  not  amount  to  more  than  one  hundred  and 
thirty.  From  these  facts  your  excellency  may  form  an  idea 
M  19 


29C  LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOC  NE. 

of  our  situation.  I  know  that  your  own  circumstances  art 
critical  ;  but  are  we  to  be  wholly  forgotten  ?  I  hope  not. 
I  trust  about  five  hundred  men  may  be  sent  to  our  assist 
ance  immediately.  If  these  shall  be  stationed  as  our  county 
lieutenants  shall  deem  necessary,  it  may  be  the  means  of 
saving  our  part  of  the  country :  but  if  they  are  placed  under 
the  direction  of  Gen.  Clarke,  they  will  be  of  li'.tle  or  no  ser- 
vice to  our  settlement.  The  Falls  lie  one  hundred  miles 
west  of  us,  and  the  Indians  north-east ;  while  our  men  are  fre- 
quently called  to  protect  them.  I  have  encouraged  the  peo- 
ple in  this  county  all  that  I  could ;  but  I  can  no  longer  jus- 
tify them  or  myself  to  risk  our  lives  here  under  such  extra- 
ordinary hazards.  The  inhabitants  of  this  county  are  very 
much  alarmed  at  the  thoughts  of  the  Indians  bringing  an 
other  campaign  into  our  country  this  fill.  If  this  should  be 
the  case,  it  will  break  up  these  settlements.  I  hope,  there- 
fore, your  excellency  will  take  the  matter  into  your  consid- 
eration, and  send  us  some  relief  as  quick  as  possible. 

"These  are  my  sentiments,  without  consulting  any  person. 
Col.  Logan,  will,  I  expect,  immediately  send  you  an  express, 
by  whom  I  humbly  request  your  excellency's  answer.  In 
the  meanwhile,  I  remain,  &c., 

"Daniel  Boone." 

As  early  as  1785,  many  families  came  down  the 
Ohio  River  in  boats,  landed  at  Maysville,  and  con 
tinned  their  ronte,  to  such  parts  of  the  country  as 
pleased  them.  Col.  Thomas  Marshall,  formerly  com- 
mander of  the  third  Virginian  regiment,  in  the  Conti- 
nental establishment,  subsequently  colonel  of  the 
regiment  of  Virginian  artillery,  embarked  with  a  nu- 
merous family  on  board  a  flat-boat,  and  descended 


COL.    MARSHALL    A^D    GIKTY'b    UKOTHLK.  29) 

the  Ohio  Avithoiit  any  incident  of  note,  until  he  passed 
tlie  moutli  of  the  Kenawha.  There,  about  ten  o'clock 
at  night,  he  was  hailed  from  the  northern  shore  by  a 
man  who  announced  himself  as  James  Girty,  the 
brother  of  the  notorious  Simon  Girty.  The  boat 
dropped  slowly  down  within  one  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  of  tlie  shore,  and  Girty  making  a  corresponding 
movement  on  the  beach  ;  and  conference  was  kept 
up  for  several  minutes.  He  began  by  mentioning 
his  name,  and  enquiring  that  of  the  master  of  the 
boat.  Having  been  satisfied  upon  this  head,  he  as- 
sured him  he  knew  him  well,  respected  him  highly, 
&c.,  &c.,  and  concluded  with  some  rather  extraordi- 
nary remarks:  "He  had  been  posted  there,"  he 
said,  "  by  the  order  of  his  brother  Simon,  to  warn 
all  boats  of  the  danger  of  permitting  themselves  to 
be  decoyed  ashore."  The  Indians  had  become  jeal- 
ous of  him,  and  he  had  lost  that  influence  he  former- 
ly hold  amongst  them.  He  deeply  regretted  the  in 
jury  he  had  inflicted  upon  his  countrymen,  and 
wished  to  be  restored  to  their  society,  and  in  order 
to  convince  them  of  the  sincerity  of  his  regard,  ho 
had  directed  him  to  warn  all  boats  of  the  snares 
spread  for  them.  Every  effort  would  be  made  Ic 
draw  passengers  ashore.  White  men  would  appear 
upon  the  bank  ;  and  children  would  be  heard  to  sup. 
plicate  mercy.     But,"  continued  he,  ''do  you  l^eer 


292 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 


die  middle  of  the  river,  aud  steel  yonr  heart  against 
any  mournful  application  jou  may  receive."  The 
colonel  thanked  him  for  his  intelligence,  and  contin^ 
ned  his  course. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

■■NSRAL    CLARKE HIS   CAMPAIGN    AGAINST   THE  INDIANS  AT    OLD    JRILU 

COTHE NARRATIVE  OF  BOONe's  ESCAPE    FROM  FOUR    INDIANS THE   PA- 
PER    CURRENCY COURTS     OF     LAW     INSTITUTED  BOONE     ESTABLISUEl 

HIMSELF  ON  A  FARM THE  RETURN  OF  PEACE INCREASE  OF  EMIGRATION 

THE  INDIANS THEIR  LOVE  FOR  RUM THEIR  PETITION THE  INDIANS 

AT  THE  PRESENT  DAY. 

General  Clarke,  the  great  military  leader  of  Ken- 
tucky, had  been  very  anxious  for  some  time  previous 
to  this,  to  organize  an  expedition  against  Detroit. 
Tliat  city  was  so  mncli  the  head-quarters  of  tlie  Brit- 
ish forces,  and  from  tlience  issued  so  much  of  its 
power,  that  he  was  determined  to  take  the  post,  if 
possible.  He  was  quickened  in  his  zeal  by  the  ser- 
vice he  had  seen  under  Baron  Steuben,  when  that 
Bturdy  old  officer  was  counteracting  the  movements 
and  machinations  of  the  traitor  Arnold.  Promoted 
to  the  rank  of  brigadier  general,  he  raised  at  the 
Falls  of  the  Ohio  a  large  force —  about  two  thousand 
men  —  which,  in  the  scattered  condition  of  the  popu- 
lation, was  a  great  army.  To  his  great  chagrin  his 
orders  were  changed,  and  he  was  ordered  to  remain 
there  on  the  defensive,  to  guard  the  frontier  ;  though 
't  appears  by  Boone's  letter  to  Gov.  Harrison,  that  ha 


294:  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

(Boone)  donhted  whether  Clarke's  forces  were  of  any 
use  to  the  settlements  around  Boonesborough,  as  hie 
command  was  at  the  distance  of  one  hundred  miles 

When  the  terrible  news  that  the  Indians  had  killed 
Col.  Todd  and  destroyed  a  large  nnmber  of  the  set- 
tlers at  the  Blue  Lick,  reached  Gen.  Clarke,  he  forgo 
his  own  despondency,  and  roused  to  vigorous  action, 
A  bold  campaign  against  the  Indians  was  imraedi 
ately  determined  npon,  and  it  went  forth,  extermina- 
ting in  its  character,  like  that  of  Gen.  Sullivan,  in 
New  York,  in  the  cause  and  features  of  which  it  was 
very  similar  ;  for  Sullivan's  march  of  terror  was  taken 
because  of  the  fatal  affair  at  AVyoming.  The  Indian 
only  brought  on  himself  a  speedier  and  surer  retribu- 
tion for  his  murderons  attack. 

Boone  ever  speaks  warmly  of  Gen.  Clarke.  In  ref- 
erence to  this  expedition,  he  says,  "  he  was  ever  our 
ready  friend,  and  merits  the  love  and  gratitude  of  all 
our  countrymen." 

Of  this  expedition  Boone  was  a  part,  and,  it  cannot 
be  doubted,  was  a  prominent  counselor  of  the  general, 
as  the  result  of  the  battle  of  Blue  Licks  had  demon- 
strated the  propriety  of  hearing  Boone's  suggestions. 
The  march  was  a  very  rapid  one,  and  all  the  cii-cum- 
Btances  show  that,  learning  from  their  recent  severe 
experience,  it  was  conducted  with  all  the  acute  cau- 
tion and  vigilance  that  the  old  Indian  hunters  could 
devise.     The  Indians,  rejoicing  in  their  victory,  pusb 


CHILLICOTHE    DESTROYED.  295 

c(l  on  to  celebrate  it  at  old  Cliillicothe.  Tliey  wero 
at  home,  and  had  proceeded  in  their  division  of  the 
spoil  and  tlie  captives.  Clarke's  army  was  within 
two  miles,  when  two  of  the  straggling  Indians  discov- 
ered them.  There  was  a  change  in  old  Chillicothe 
in  a  few  moments.  These  Indians  rushed  with  all  the 
rapidity  they  could  achieve,  to  give  w^arning  of  the 
avenging  army.  Chillicothe  was  deserted  faster  than 
ever  before.  Its  glory  of  triumph  was  over,  and  wig- 
wams were  silent  which  but  the  hour  before  had  been 
full  of  exultino^  savao:es.  It  was  a  threat  sacrifice  to 
them  to  leave  their  towns,  but  they  knew  who  wag 
behind  them,  and  they  escaped  for  life.  The  army 
destroyed  the  towns  —  reducing  them  to  ashes  —  and 
desolated  their  country.  The  blow  they  struck  was 
fatal  and  forcible.  It  was  melancholy  to  know  that, 
maddened  by  the  desolation  and  destruction  at  the 
battle  of  the  Blue  Licks,  some  of  the  army  followed 
the  cruelty  of  the  Indians,  by  scalping  some  of  their 
captives.  These  occurrences  are  blots  on  the  history, 
but  it  was  almost  impossible  to  restrain  the  men. 
The  Chillicothe  towns  were  all  destroyed.  Boone  en- 
tered the  scene  of  his  captivity  as  a  conqueror.  Thia 
expedition  alarmed  the  savages,  and  disheartened 
them  ;  for  it  showed  them  that,  even  after  such  a  dis- 
aster as  w^as  that  of  the  Blue  Licks,  the  white  men 
rose  up  in  renewed  strength  and  increased  numbers 
\s  Bjone  says,  it  made  them  sensible  of  the  superi 


296  LIFE    OF   DAIHEL   LOONE. 

ority  of  the  whites.  It  dissolved  tlieir  dangerous  con 
nection  with  each  other,  and  left  them  to  scattered 
and  roving  border  fights. 

In  this  campaign  the  Kentuckians  secured  the 
peace  of  their  country.  The  disheartened  Indian  re- 
turned no  more  ;  and  Boone  turned  his  attention  from 
war  to  the  arts  of  peace.  The  contest  with  Great 
Britain  was  so  rapidly  proclaiming  its  probable  end, 
that  the  time  seemed  to  have  come  for  tlie  cpiiet  set- 
tlement of  the  beautiful  and  broad  land  to  which 
Boone  had  led  his  countrymen.  The  emigration,  en- 
couraged by  the  approaching  quiet,  rushed  in  in 
greater  numbers,  and  land  and  land  titles  occupied 
the  settlers'  attention,  and,  in  many  cases,  troubled 
him  more  than  the  rifle  of  the  Indian. 

But  the  Indian  was  still  more  than  troublesome  — ■ 
he  was  destructive.  Though  the  power  to  organize 
an  army  was  gone,  the  midnight  assault,  the  alarm, 
tlie  murder,  were  all  companions  of  Kentucky  life. 
One  of  his  neighbors,  and  one  who  came  into  the 
country  from  listening  to  the  glowing  descriptions 
which  Boone  gave  of  the  land,  trusting  too  much  to 
the  defeat  of  the  savages,  and  presuming  upon  a  state 
of  quiet,  carelessly  riding  out  near  the  fort,  was  killed 
and  scalped  by  a  party  of  Indians.  Boone  warmly 
pursued  them,  but  their  flight  was  a  successful  one. 
All  these  proceedings  kept  alive  the  fears  of  tlie  set- 
tlers, and  made  the  men  of  the  frontier  feel  that  there 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE.  29'i 

was  no  furniture  in  their  lionse  quite  as  necessary  as 
the  rifle. 

Boone  was  specially  obnoxious  to  the  Indians 
They  could  not  forget  the  bold  manner  in  which  he 
had  twice  made  his  escape,  nor  were  they  likely  to 
forcret  that  he  had  been  one  of  the  most  efficient  in 
the  great  chastisement  which  Gen.  Clarke's  expedi- 
tion inflicted.  It  became  a  plan  of  the  Indian  to  take 
him,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  never  safe.  Mr.  Peck 
lias  obtained  the  following  very  interesting  narrative 
of  a  thrilling  adventure  which  Boone  experienced : 

"  On  one  occasion,  four  hidians  came  to  the  farm  of  Col. 
Boone,  and  nearly  succeeded  in  taking  him  prisoner.  The 
particulars  are  given,  as  they  were  narrated  by  Boone  him- 
self, at  the  wedding  of  a  granddaughter,  a  few  months  before 
his  decease,  and  they  furnish  an  illustration  of  his  habitual 
self-possession  and  tact  with  Indians.  At  a  short  distance 
from  his  cabin,  \e  had  raised  a  small  patch  of  tobacco,  to 
supply  his  neighbors,  (for  Boone  never  used  the  weed  him- 
self,) the  amount,  perhaps,  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  hills. 

"  As  a  shelter  for  curing  it,  he  had  built  an  enclosure  of 
rails,  a  dozen  feet  in  height,  and  covered  it  with  cane  and 
grass.  Stalks  of  tobacco  are  usually  split  and  strung  on 
si:icks  about  four  feet  in  length.  The  end  of  these  are  laid 
on  poles,  placed  across  the  tobacco-house,  and  in  tiers,  one 
above  the  other,  to  the  roof.  Boone  had  fixed  his  temporary 
shelter  in  such  a  manner  as  to  have  three  tiers.  He  had 
covered  the  lower  tier,  and  the  tobacco  had  become  dry 
when  he  entered  the  shelter  for  the  purpose  of  removing  th« 
fticks  to  the  upper  tier,  preparatory  to  gathering  the  remain 
M* 


298  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

der  of  the  crop.  He  had  hoisted  up  the  sticks  from  the  lowei 
to  the  second  tier,  and  was  stan(Jing  on  the  poles  that  sup- 
ported it,  while  raising  the  sticks  to  the  other  tier,  when  four 
stout  hidians,  with  guns,  entered  the  low  door,  and  called 
him  by  name.  '  Now,  Boone,  we  got  you.  You  no  get 
away  more.  We  carry  you  off  to  Chillicothe  this  time. 
You  no  cheat  us  any  more.'  Boone  looked  down  upon  their 
upturned  faces,  saw  their  loaded  guns  pointed  at  his  breast, 
and  recognizing  some  of  his  old  friends,  the  Shawanese,  who 
had  made  him  prisoner  near  the  Blue  Licks,  in  1778,  coolly 
and  pleasantly  responded,  '  Ah !  old  friends,  glad  to  see 
you.'  Perceiving  that  they  manifested  impatience  to  have 
him  come  down,  he  told  them  he  was  quite  willing  to  go 
with  them,  and  only  begged  they  would  wait  where  they 
were,  and  watch  him  closely  until  he  could  finish  removing 
his  tobacco. 

"  While  parleying  with  them,  mquiring  after  old  acquaint- 
ances, and  proposing  to  give  them  his  tobacco  when  cured, 
he  diverted  their  attention  from  his  purpose,  until  he  had 
collected  together  a  number  of  sticks  of  dry  tobacco,  and  so 
turned  them  as  to  fall  between  the  poles  directly  in  their 
faces.  At  the  same  instant,  he  jumped  upon  them  with  aa 
much  of  the  dry  tobacco  as  he  could  gather  in  his  arms,  fill- 
ing their  mouths  and  eyes  with  its  pungent  dust,  and  blind- 
ing and  disabling  them  from  following  him,  rushed  out  and 
Hastened  to  his  cabin,  where  he  had  the  means  of  defense. 
Notwithstanding  the  narrow  escape,  he  could  not  resist  the 
temptation,  after  retreating  some  fifteen  or  twenty  yards,  to 
look  round  and  see  the  success  of  his  achievement.  The  In- 
dians, blinded  and  suffocated,  were  stretching  out  theit 
hands  and  feeling  about  in  different  directions,  calKng  aim  by 
iMime,  and  cursing  him  fc>f  a  rogue,  and  themselves  for  fools.' 


PKOSPERITT   OF   THE    SETTLERS.  29ft 

'riie  arts  and  circmTisfances  of  civilized  life  no\r 
moulded  society  in  Kentucky.  The  country  where 
B(y>ne  had  been  alone  was  now  teeming  with  indus- 
try. Labor  was  rewarded.  Cattle,  secure  in  great 
measure  from  pillage  by  the  Indians,  were  multiplied. 
The  rivers  were  made  channels  of  transportation^ 
and  the  West  was  recognized  by  the  East  as  some- 
thing n.ore  than  a  place  of  savage  or  half-civilized 
frontier-men. 

Security  and  sustenance  were  the  first  objects  of 
the  settler,  and  they  therefore  deemed  it  best  to  live 
in  what  were  called  stations.  These  were  log  houses, 
connected,  but  with  gateways  which  might  be  closed 
when  the  signal  of  danger  was  given.  But  in  secu- 
ring a  place  for  these  stations,  the  sagacity  of  the 
American  character  did  not  omit  to  choose  good  land. 
It  has  been  cited  as  a  strange  oversight  on  the  part 
of  those  who  constructed  some  of  these  stations,  that 
the  spring  or  water  course  with  which  the  settlera 
were  supplied,  was  left  outside,  so  that  it  was  at  great 
personal  risk,  in  a  siege,  that  this  indispensable  ar- 
ticle was  obtained.  The  space  within  shelter  was  to 
be  large  enough  to  guard  the  cattle  and  horses,  wher 
pursuit  became  very  close.  Better  and  more  peace- 
able times  appearing,  the  stations  were  left,  and  sepa- 
rate ami  more  detached  log  houses  were  built.  Each 
neighb3r  and  settler  aided  the  other  in  the  erection 
»f  such  residence.     Our  whole  country  is  not  yet  so 


300  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

tenanted  bj  the  more  durable  order  of  building,  but 
that  in  all  quarters  the  idea  of  what  a  log  house  is, 
may  be  gathered  from  the  inspection  of  a  survivor, 
which  in  its  strength  still  gives  shelter  to  the  family 
who  patiently  await  the  year  when  they  shall  be 
able  to  leave  it  for  some  more  ambitious  structure  ; 
for  the  idea  of  remaining  quiet  and  contented  in  any 
house,  excepting  such  a  one  as  compares  with  or  ex- 
ceeds all  rivals,  is  not  an  American  one. 

There  was  money  in  the  settlements,  but  much  of 
it  was  of  the  paper  or  Continental  stamp,  whose  value 
was  particularly  dubious.  It  could  not  have  been 
very  precious  when  the  county  court  fixed  the  follow- 
ing rates  for  the  tariff  of  tavern-keeping,  establishing 
a  schedule  of  prices  which  if,  as  in  these  days,  a  dol- 
lar had  signified  the  representative  of  a  "  Spanish 
milled,"  would  far  exceed  even  the  highest  chargea 
of  the  most  unconscientious  city  hotel-keeper. 

*'The  court  doth  set  the  followinoj  rates  to  be  ob- 
served  by  ordinary  keepers  in  this  county  :  Whisky, 
fifteen  dollars  the  half  pint ;  rum,  ten  dollars  the  gal- 
lon ;  a  meal,  twelve  dollars ;  stabling  or  pasturage, 
four  dollars  the  night." 

This  seems  like  the  record  of  a  California  reckon- 
ing ;  but  when  a  hat  was  worth  five  hundred  dollars, 
Genin's  purchase  of  his  Jenny  Lind  ticket  would  Iiava 
been  excusable.  When  Congress  recommended  to  the 
States  to  pass  laws  making  paper  currency  a  )ega/ 


ANECDOrE   OF    WASHINGTON.  301 

tender,  at  its  nominal  value  in  coin,  it  was  considered 
by  Washington  a  procedure  unjust  in  principle,  and 
iniquitous  in  effect. 

"  When  tne  army  was  at  Morristown,  a  man  of  respecta- 
ble standing  lived  in  the  neighborhood,  who  was  assiduous 
in  his  civilities  to  Washington,  which  were  kindly  received 
and  reciprocated.  Unluckily,  this  man  paid  his  debts  in  the 
depreciated  currency.  Sometime  afterwards,  he  called  at 
head-quarters,  and  was  introduced  as  usual  to  the  general's 
apartment,  where  he  was  then  conversing  with  some  of  his 
officers.  He  bestowed  very  little  attention  upon  the  visitor. 
The  same  thing  occurred  a  second  time,  when  he  was  more 
reserved  than  before.  This  was  so  different  from  his  cus- 
tomary manner,  that  Lafayette,  who  was  present,  on  both 
occasions,  could  not  help  remarking  it,  and  he  said,  after  the 
man  was  gone,  '  General,  this  man  seems  to  be  much  devoted 
to  you,  and  yet  you  have  scarcely  noticed  him.'  Washing- 
ton replied,  smiling,  '  I  know  I  have  not  been  cordial ;  I 
tried  hard  to  be  civil,  and  attempted  to  speak  to  him  two  or 
three  times,  but  that  Continental  money  stopped  my  mouth." 

In  1782,  Virginia  gave  the  district  of  Kentucky  a 
general  court,  with  all  its  array  of  judges  and  attor- 
ney-generals, which  was  a  very  great  convenience,  as 
heretofore  tlie  legal  business  of  the  country  was  trans- 
acted at  Kichmond,  which  made  the  froutier  in  a  prac- 
tical vassalage ;  for  when  the  decision  of  their  rights 
was  thus  within  the  control  of  others,  it  gave  them 
rery  little  real  freedom.  Especially  was  a  good  homo 
rourt  necessary,  when  the  titles  to  lands  were  so  in 


502  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

volved.  Indeed,  a  quiirrel  about  land  and  ownership 
was  the  very  dispute  into  which  the  settlers,  the  mo 
ment  the  crack  of  the  Indian  rifle  ceased  to  be  heard 
in  their  neighborhood,  were  most  likely  to  rush 
With  individuals  as  with  nations,  the  disposition  is  to 
Beize.  The  Indian  sachems  once  asked  Mr.  Gist 
where  their  own  lands  were,  for  the  French  claimed 
all  the  land  on  the  one  side  of  the  Ohio  Eiver,  and 
the  English  on  the  other ;  and  out  of  a  land  quarrel 
the  war  of  1753  began,  in  which  nearly  all  the  Euro- 
pean continent  becaiMe  involved,  and  which,  in  ita 
consequences,  gave  rise  to  the  American  Revolution. 
Tke  first  blow  struck  on  the  Ohio  began  the  series, 
just  as  the  forest  pilgrimage  of  Daniel  Boone  led  to 
the  development  of  the  great  Western  Empire. 

The  court  was  at  first  held  at  Harrodsburgh.  It 
was  afterwards  removed  to  a  place  which  obtained 
the  name  of  Dansville.  Those  who  first  took  upon 
themselves  the  judicial  ermine,  did  not  imagine  that 
in  the  great  State  which  was  to  arise  out  of  this  new 
country,  one  of  the  largest  and  most  important  of  all 
the  differences  that  ever  agitated  the  people  of  Ken- 
tucky was  to  arise  out  of  the  old  and  new  courts  — 
words  interwoven  with  the  record  of  a  bitter  struggle, 
which  soon  found  its  way  into  and  controlled  the  pol- 
itics of  the  State. 

Baone  having  now  established  himself  on  a  farm, 
and,  settled  in  a  log  house,  gave  his  family  hope  that  h« 


BOONE  A  FARMER.  305 

h,  I,  at  last,  found  a  quiet  home,  where  the  battle 
eh.  /uld  be  known  only  by  the  stirring  histories  which 
hi  might  give  of  the  dread  doings  he  had  witnessed. 
Bc.»ne's  character  develops  itself  in  the  calmness  with 
wh'ch  he  left  the  bold  business  of  the  soldier,  to  take 
up  Ms  rifle  only  as  a  hunter.  To  the  pursuit  of  hunt- 
ing Boone  jwes  much  of  the  ordinary  reputation  his 
nanKe  bears,  but  he  was  not  one  of  those  to  whom 
huniing  was  a  necessity  of  existence.  He  had  a  vast 
pow«ir  in  his  rifle  —  his  knowledge  of  woodcraft — his 
great  experience  —  and  he  was  eminently  without  a 
supejior,  but  it  was  in  better  enterprises  than  the 
chase,  that  Boone  made  his  record  in  the  page  of 
fame  ;  and  in  the  history  of  a  man  who  proved  him- 
self possessed  of  the  highest  qualities  which  assist  in 
the  formation  of  a  State,  it  is  of  little  importance  to 
narrate  the  incidents  of  the  amusement  or  support  he 
received  from  the  woods.  IS'otwithstanding  all  the 
fanciful  fictions  which  have  been  drawn  of  Boone's 
desire  for  solitude,  which,  except  at  one  period  of  his 
life,  and  then  only  temporary,  are  unfounded,  he 
probably  supposed  that  he  had  fixed  in  Fayette  coun- 
ty his  permanent  home.  Thus  even  the  grandilo- 
quent language  which  Filson  makes  him  use,  the  idea 
of  rest  after  a  series  of  fierce  contests  with  the  sava- 
ges, is  prominent.  "  Peace  comes  to  the  sylvan  shade, 
I  now  live  in  peace  and  safety,  enjoying  the  sweets  ot 
liberty,"  he  says,  and  he  pours  out  his  "thanks  —  ar 


SOI  LIFE    UF    DANIEL    LOONE. 

dent  and  ceaseless  thanks  —  to  tlie  all  superintending 
Providence  which  has  turned  a  cruel  war  into  peace." 
He  knew  the  cost  at  which  the  white  men  had  gained 
his  beloved  Kentucky.  The  perils,  from  the  hour  he 
looked  out  upon  the  wilderness  alone  and  without 
face  of  human  being  to  cheer  him,  to  the  moment 
when  he  left  his  dead  son  to  tlie  cruelties  of  the  fierce 
Indian,  were  before  him.  He  believed  his  destiny  as 
"  an  instrument  ordained  to  settle  the  wilderness  "  to 
be  accomplished. 

The  establishment  of  peace  between  this  country — 
free  and  sovereign  States  —  and  Great  Britain,  gave 
Btrengtli  to  the  hope  of  the  settler,  and  encouraged 
Boone  to  believe  that  Kentucky  would  rise  to  all  the 
greatness  of  his  fondest  hopes.  With  his  strength  of 
mind  and  its  concentration  —  for  it  is  evident  that  he 
never  attempted  to  tread  out  of  the  range  of  purpose 
for  which  he  thought  himself  most  competent  —  he 
could  not  but  watch  all  the  onward  movements  of 
civilization  with  great  interest.  It  is  quite  likely  that 
what  pleased  him  least,  was  to  see  that  the  reference 
by  one  neighbor  of  his  dispute  to  the  settlement  of  an- 
other, was  forsaken,  for  the  complicated  practice  of 
the  courts  increased  ;  to  notice  that,  day  by  day,  the 
law  was  assuming  in  its  forms  and  precedents  more 
and  more  of  authority.  His  early  life  in  Xoith  Car- 
alina  had  educated  him  for  such  opinions,  because 
there  the  abuses  and  oppressions  of  those  who  were 


FIRST   JUDGES    OF    KENTUCKY.  3Uc 

sheltered  beneath  tlie  regulations  and  rules  of  law^ 
bad  convulsed  society.  His  loss  of  his  land  papers, 
and  the  endless  difficulties  to  which  it  subjected  him^ 
all  strengthened  this  feeling ;  but  as  he  had,  as  he 
thought,  a  good  claim,  he  went  on  in  its  improve- 
ment, and  looked  to  the  agriculture  of  the  country—- 
w]iile  he  never  forgot  the  relation  in  which  he  stood 
to  the  Indians,  but  kept  his  good  rifle  where  his  hand 
could,  in  an  instant,  be  upon  it.  It  had  too  often 
shown  its  value  to  be  neglected. 

Meanwhile,  the  luxuries  of  life  began  to  find  their 
way  to  this  region.  In  1780,  Virginia  had  passed  a 
law  establishing  the  town  of  Louisville,  at  the  Falls  of 
the  Ohio,  and  though  the  Indian  stood  ready,  if  possi- 
ble, to  track  every  footstep  thither  with  blood,  yet  tho 
irresistible  progress  of  civilization  overcame  all  dan- 
gers. In  1783,  Daniel  Brodhead  astonished  the  settlers 
by  offering  for  sale  goods  from  Philadelphia,  having 
succeeded  in  freighting  them  from  thence  to  Pittsburgh 
in  wagons,  and  down  the  river  in  flat-boats.  Even 
upon  those  days  of  simplicity  arose  the  radiance  of 
gaudy  calico  and  overshadowing  wool  hats.  It  was 
a  time  of  serious  innovation. 

John  Floyd  and  Samuel  McDowell  were  the  first 
judges  of  the  Kentucky  district.  Both  these  namei 
are  of  families  illustrious  in  the  annals  of  Virginia, 
•ven  to  our  own  day. 

The  emigration  in  the  years  1Y83  and  1784,  is  com- 

20 


506  LU'E    OF   DANIEL    BOUNE. 

piited  by  Filson  to  have  amounted  to  not  less  tliac 
twelve   thousand ;    but   this   seems   an   exaggerated 
number.     The  Indians  seemed'to  let  the  settlers  alone 
for  the  time,  and  that  most  eulogistic  historian  of  Ken? 
tucky,    Imlay,  declares  that  there  appears  to  be  no- 
thing wanting  to  make  them  the  happiest  people  upon 
earth.     He  says  that  the  order  and  quiet  which  pre 
vailed  in  1784,  was  sufficient  to  have  induced  a  stran- 
ger to  believe  he  was  living  under  an  old  settled  gov- 
ernment.    He  may  have  so  thought,  being  a  surveyor, 
but  the  adjustment  of  the  claims  of  settlement  and 
preemption  rights  soon,  at  least  in  some  cases,  made 
this  happiness  chequered  by  many  proceedings  which 
spread  ruin  to  those  who  had  suffered  and  done  the 
most  to  bring  about  the  settlement  of  the  country. 
The  man  who  knew  and  practised  only  the  broad 
rules  of  fairness,  and  who,  because  he  knew  that  his 
own  notions  were  pure,  thought  equal  justice  would 
be  wrought  to  him,  was  not  the  person  to  cope  with 
the  shrewd  and  cunning  speculator,  who  had  a  touch 
of  Shylock  about  him,  and  was  as  ready  to  insist  upon 
every  nicety  of  legal  enactment,  wlien  it  would  work 
in  his  favor,  as  was  the  Jew  to  exact  the  fearful  pen- 
alty of  his  bond.     Cooper,  in  his  best  story —  the  Pi- 
oneer—  illustrates  this,  in  the  case  of  the  simple- 
hearted  hunter,  who  found  it  impossible  to  see  the 
justice  of  the  procedure  of  the  courts.     It  is  easy  to 
8ee  that  our  great  novelist  must  have  drawn  from 


DALTON's    speech    to    the    INDIAJSfft  30'? 

the  history  of  Boone  irucli  of  the  suggestion  of  his 
hunter  character. 

Boone  was  soon  to  feel  that,  like  the  many  ol 
earth's  benefactors,  when  his  services  ceased  to  be 
vitally  necessary  their  value  was  speedily  forgotten. 

Boone's  own  narrative  seems  to  reach  to  the  year 
1784.  At  the  time  it  was  written  in  his  dictation,  it 
was  prepared  simultaneously  with  a  description  of 
Kentucky  by  Filson,  and  to  this  history,  Col.  Boone, 
and  Levi  Todd,  and  James  Harrod,  give  their  cordial 
recommendation.  Their  experience  in  the  way  of 
criticism  on  books  was  not  as  extensive  as  their  ac- 
quaintance with  rougher  enterprises.  At  the  close 
of  the  sketch  of  his  life,  Boone  gives,  and  calls  atten- 
tion to  it,  a  curious  document  relating  to  the  Indians. 
It  is  the  speech  to  them  of  a  Mr.  Dal  ton  —  wlio  was 
probably  a  government  agent  —  and  their  reply. 
There  are  some  curious  illustrations  of  the  times  in 
its  contents.  It  assigns  their  poverty  as  the  cause  of 
their  alliance  with  the  English.  The  copartnership 
left  them  far  poorer  than  it  found  them.  Their  hopes 
of  driving  the  settler  away  had  all  ceased,  and  the  fact 
that  even  the  great  king  across  the  water  had  not  been 
able  to  assist  them  to  it,  was  not  longer  to  be  passed 
by.  They  profess  a  claim  of  friendsliip  with  the  set- 
tiers.  Boone  says,  it  was  their  wretchedness  which 
drove  them  to  rt.  Melancholy  it  is  to  notice  the  ear- 
uest  pleading  which  these  chiefs  use,  to  procure  the 


508  LIFE    OF    1>ANIEL    BOOKE. 

fatal  gift  of  rum ;  —  to  be  able  to  make  it,  seems  a 
knowledge  and  art  they  greatly  covet.  Some  of  theii 
prisoners  astonished  them  by  telling  them  that  they 
possessed  such  rare  skill.  The  gift  they  coveted  they 
doubtless  received.  It  was  the  curse  of  the  day,  and 
the  white  man  who  ought  to  have  gone  forth  to  bless 
and  to  civilize,  made  this  passion  of  the  Indian  the 
swift  instrument  of  their  destruction.  To  such  fate 
was  the  poor  Indian  early  doomed,  and  his  own  hor- 
rible cruelty  dismissed  all  sympathy  for  him  from  the 
frontier.  He  appeared  before  them  only  as  a  being 
using  power  wherever  he  obtained  it,  too  often  under 
circumstances  of  cruelty  in  which,  if  a  white  man  par- 
ticipated, it  was  only  when  he  became  the  most  aban 
doned  of  his  race.  The  Indian  could  not  but  have 
seen  that  his  destiny  was  to  pass  away.  This  memo- 
rial shows  it. 

"My  Children  : — What  I  have  often  told  you  is  now  come 
to  pass.  This  day  I  received  news  from  my  Great  Chiel, 
at  the  Falls  of  Ohio.  Peace  is  made  with  the  enemies  of 
America.  The  white  flesh,  the  Americans,  French,  Spanish, 
Dutch,  and  English,  this  day  smoked  out  of  the  peace-pipe. 
The  tomahawk  is  buried  and  they  are  now  friends.  I  am 
told  the  Shawanese,  Delawares,  Chickasaws,  Cherokees,  and 
all  other  red  flesh,  have  taken  the  Long  Knife  by  the  hand 
They  have  given  up  to  them  the  prisoners  that  were  in  their 
nation. 

"  My  Children  on  Wabash  :  —  Open  your  ears,  and  let 
what  I  tell  you  sink  into  your  hearts.    You  know  me.    Neai 


REPLY   OF   THE   INDIANS.  30ft 

twenty  years  I  have  been  among  you.  The  Long  Knife  U 
my  nation.  1  know  their  hearts  ;  peace  they  carry  in  one 
hand,  and  war  in  the  other.  I  leave  you  to  yourselves  to 
judge.  Consider,  and  now  accept  the  one  or  the  other.  We 
never  beg  peace  of  our  enemies.  If  you  love  your  women 
and  children,  receive  the  belt  of  wampum,  I  present  you. 
Return  me  my  flesh  you  have  in  your  villages,  and  the  hor- 
ses you  stole  from  my  people  in  Kentucky.  Your  corn  fields 
were  never  disturbed  by  the  Long  Knife.  Your  women  and 
children,  lived  quiet  in  their  houses,  while  your  warriors 
were  killing  and  robbing  my  people.  All  this  you  know  is 
the  truth.  This  is  the  last  time  I  shall  speak  to  you.  I  have 
waited  six  moons  to  hear  you  speak,  and  to  get  my  people 
from  you.  In  ten  nights  I  shall  leave  the  Wabash  to  see 
my  Great  Chief  at  the  Falls  of  Ohio,  where  he  will  be  glad 
to  hear,  from  your  own  lips,  what  you  have  to  say. 

"  Here  is  tobacco  I  give  you ;  smoke,  and  consider  what  1 
have  said.  Then  I  delivered  one  belt  of  blue  and  white 
wampum,  and  said,  Piankashaw,  speak,  speak   to  the  Ame- 


Then  the  Piankashaw  chief  answered  : 

"  My  Great  Father,  the  Long  Knife  : — You  have  been 
many  years  among  us.  You  have  suffered  by  us.  We  still 
hope  you  will  have  pity  and  compassion  upon  us,  on  our 
women  and  children  :  the  day  is  clear.  The  sun  shines  on 
as,  and  the  good  news  of  peace  appears  in  our  flices.  Thia 
day,  my  father,  this  is  the  day  of  joy  to  the  Wabash  Indians. 
With  one  tongue  we  now  speak.  We  accept  your  peace- 
belt,  We  return  God  thanks  ;  you  are  the  man  that  deliv- 
ered us,  what  we  long  wished  for,  peace  with  the  white  flesh. 
My  father,  we  have  many  times  counseled  before  you  kne>^ 
as  :  and  you  know  how  some  of  us  suffered  before.     We  re 


310  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

eoived  the  tomahawk  from  the  English :  poverty  forced  ui 
to  it,  we  were  attended  by  other  nations  :  we  are  sorry  for 
It :  we  this  day  collect  the  bones  of  our  friends  that  long 
ago  were  scattered  upon  the  earth.  We  bury  them  in  one 
grave.  We  thus  plant  the  tree  of  peace,  that  God  may 
spread  branches,  so  that  we  can  all  be  secured  from  bad 
weather.  They  smoke  as  brothers  out  of  the  peace-pipe  we 
now  present  to  you.  Here,  my  father,  is  the  pipe  that  gives 
us  joy.  Smoke  out  of  it.  Our  warriors  are  glad  you  are 
the  man  we  present  it  to.  You  see,  father,  we  have  buried 
the  tomahawk,  we  now  make  a  great  chain  of  friendsliip 
never  to  be  broken ;  and  now,  as  one  people,  smoke  out  of 
your  pipe. 

"  My  flither,  we  know"  God  was  angry  with  us  for  stealing 
your  horses,  and  disturbing  your  people.  He  has  sent  us  so 
much  snow  and  cold  weather,  that  God  himself  killed  alJ 
y  our  horses  with  our  owti.  We  are  now  a  poor  people. 
God,  we  hope,  will  help  us ;  and  our  father,  the  Long  Knife, 
have  pity  and  compassion  on  our  women  and  children.  Your 
fle.sh,  my  father,  is  well,  that  is  among  us ;  we  shall  collect 
them  all  together,  when  they  come  in  from  hunting.  Don't 
be  sorry,  my  father,  all  the  prisoners  taken  at  Kentucky  are 
alive  and  well ;  we  love  them,  and  so  do  our  young  women. 
Some  of  your  people  mend  our  guns,  and  others  tell  us  they 
can  make  rum  out  of  corn.  Those  are  now  the  same  as  we. 
In  one  moon  after  this  we  will  go  with  them  to  their  friends 
in  Kentucky.  Some  of  your  people  will  now  go  with 
Costca,  a  chief  of  our  nation,  to  see  his  great  father,  the 
liOng  Knife,  at  the  Falls  of  Ohio. 

"  My  father,  this  being  the  day  of  joy  to  the  Wabash  In- 
dians, we  beg  a  little  drop  of  your  milk,  to  let  our  warriors 
see  it  came  from  your  own  breast.  We  were  born  and 
raist  ^  in  the  woods  ;  we  could  never  learn  to  make  rum  — 


EFFECT   ON    THE   INDIAJ^S. 


311 


God  has  made  the  white  flesh  masters  of  the  world ;  they 
make  everythioi^  •  and  we  all  love  rum. 

"  Then  they  delivered  three  strings  of  blue  and  white 
wampum,  and  the  coronet  of  peace. 
•'  Present  in  council, 

"  MusKiTO,  Antia, 

Capt.  Beaver,  Montoub, 

Woods  &  Burning,  Castia, 

Badtripes,  Grand  Court, 

with  many  other  chiefs  and  war  captains,  and  the  principal 
inhabitants  of  the  port  of  St.  Vincents." 

Strange  to  say,  the  effect  of  the  severe  lessons  im- 
printed on  the  minds  of  the  Pinkiashaw  Indians  seems 
not  to  have  been  effaced  even  to  this  hour.  The  re- 
port of  the  commissioner  of  Indian  affairs  in  1858, 
states  this  tribe  —  a  small  remnant — as  one  of  tliose 
who,  yielding  to  the  forthcoming  power  of  the  white 
man,  were  willing  to  sell  ont  tlieir  possessions  and  re- 
treat still  further  to  the  western  forests. 


CHAPTEE    XYIl. 

OroiAN  HOSTILITIES  RENEWED TEE  NUMEROUS  CONVENTIONS  RKLATTVB  10 

THE  FORMATION  OF  A  STATE JOHN  MARSHALL KENTUCKY  ADMITTED  IH 

THE  UNION  AS  A  STATE  IN  1791  BOONe's  DIFFICULTIES  RELATIVE  TO  THl 

TITLE  TO  HIS  LANDS HE  LOSES  HIS    FARM NARRATIVE   OF    THE  E8CAPK 

OF  DOWNING    AND  YATES   FROM  THE  INDIANS THE    BRAVE    KENTUCKIAN9 

ESCAPE    OF  MB.  ROWAN    AND    FAMILY BOONe's    VISIT   TO    HIS    BIRTB 

PLACE HIS  HARDSHIPS  IN  THE  LOSS  OF    HIS  LANDS. 

In  1784,  the  Indian  again  made  his  power  to  ha- 
rass the  settler  known.  The  settlers  of  Kentucky  felt 
that  they  were  overlooked  by  Yirginia  ;  that  the  seat 
of  government  was  too  far  away ;  and  that  while 
peace  came  to  all  the  rest  of  the  Union,  it  had  omit- 
ted its  gentle  reign  over  a  district  where  it  was  un- 
safe to  wander  out  of  sight  of  the  stations  and  forts, 
without  being  well  armed.  Indeed,  a  rumor  spread 
that  there  was  to  be  a  repetition  of  the  invasions  by 
large  forces,  which  had  so  desolated  the  frontier  in 
the  battle  of  the  Blue  Licks  ;  and  a  concentration  of 
the  settlements  was  suggested,  and  a  meeting  of  ma- 
ny of  their  best  men  was  held  at  Dansville.  They 
looked  over  the  laws  which  governed  their  action,  and 
found  that  if  the  invasion  was  to  take  place,  it  must 
t)e  repelled  by  volunteer  effort,  as  the  powers  neces 


CONVENTION   AT    DANSYILLE.  313 

sarj  to  carry  on  a  war  poasod  witli  the  declaration  o^ 
peace.  It  was  a  weary  distance  over  to  llichmond, 
and  rich  as  tlie  great  State  of  Virginia  was  in  brave 
men  and  good  lawyers,  tlie  Indian  would  wait  for 
neither  the  arms  of  the  one  or  the  oj^inions  of  the 
other. 

The  threatened  invasion  did  not  take  place:  the 
Indian  had  his  memories  of  the  destruction  of  his 
towns  too  vivid  to  give  him  much  heart  to  carry  on 
anotlier  campaign.  The  meeting  at  Dansville  argued 
whether  it  were  not  best  —  indeed,  whether  it  were 
not  the  only  true  course  —  to  strike  their  blow  in  ad- 
vance, and  proceed  hke  Sullivan  and  Clarke,  to  a  wat 
of  extermination.  In  this  condition  of  opinion,  to 
find  themselves  without  legal  power  to  make  this 
movement,  was  most  embarrassing;  and  they  pro- 
ceeded to  do,  what  so  many  public  bodies  do — to 
call  another  convention,  which  should  be  somewhat 
more  formal,  and  possess  a  more  detailed  delegated 
authority. 

Curiously,  the  elections  for  :he  new  convention 
were  held  from  each  militia  company ;  as  if  Kentucky 
was  to  be  carried  forward  at  every  stage  of  her  pro- 
gress by  the  sword.  The  delegates  again  met ;  and 
one  of  the  most  singular  pages  in  the  annals  of  Ken- 
tucky is  the  great  number  of  conventions  that  were 
held  by  a  people  more  familiar  with  the  rifle  than 
with  the  pen,  and  far  more  at  home  tjl  the  stirring 


514  LIFE   OF  DAKIEL   BOONE. 

phout  of  the  border  fight  or  forest  hunt,  than  in  the 
parliamentary  debate.  In  the  lists  of  delegates  we 
do  not  find  the  name  of  Col.  Boone,  and  the  reason 
is  an  obvious  one.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who, 
possessing  the  power  to  act  well  the  career  he  should 
gelect,  sought  only  that  which  led  him  to  withdraw 
from  the  crowd.  He  led  the  way  in  heroic  and  noble 
achievement  to  lay  the  foundation  of  the  State.  For 
this  he  dared  death  in  every  shape,  and  went  through 
a  series  of  adventures  more  bold  and  impressive  than 
are  found  in  the  life  of  a  vast  number  of  those  on 
whom  the  world  flings  its  laurels ;  but  in  the  contro", 
of  the  community  he  had  formed,  he  took  no  part. 
He  knew  that  the  convention  at  Dansville  might  for- 
get him  in  its  papers  and  its  talk  ;  but  he  knew  as 
well,  that  if  the  invasion,  the  fear  of  which  had 
brought  them  together,  should  take  place,  they  would 
turn  to  the  Pioneer  to  be  of  those  who  should  lead 
them  to  victory. 

Of  this  second  meeting  at  Dansville,  a  young  man 
was  secretary,  who  prosecuted  his  studies,  to  qualify 
himself  for  his  profession,  by  fire-light — the  hours  of 
the  day  being  occupied  in  the  labors  necessary  for  hi 
support.  He  commenced  the  practice  when  his  horse, 
saddle  and  bridle,  and  thirty-seven  and  a  half  cents 
in  money,  were  all  his  means ;  and  he  died  a  Justice 
of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  —  the  as 
Bociate   of  John  Mareball.     He  was  of  those   men. 


MOBE   CONVENTIONS  316 

whose  good  sense  and  integrity  were  so  valnaLle  to 
Kentucky  in  the  hour  when  its  character  as  a  com. 
m  on  wealth  was  forming. 

This  convention  was  very  clear  in  opinion  that  the 
time  had  come  when  the  State  of  Kentucky  should 
be  organized,  and  her  separation  from  the  govern 
ment  of  Virginia  determined.  But,  as  if  it  was  most 
excellent  employment  for  these  hardy  sons  of  the 
frontier  to  meet  in  formal  assemblages,  the  subject 
was  referred  to  another  convention,  which  met  in 
May,  1785,  at  Dansville  —  as  famous  for  its  conven- 
tions as  is,  in  this  day,  the  city  of  Syracuse. 

This  one  met  on  the  twenty- third  of  May.  Profit- 
ing by  tlie  dignified  example  set  by  the  Transylvania 
Legislature,  which  had  been  the  pioneer  of  all,  ita 
proceedings  were  conducted  with  great  order.  They 
resolved  that  Kentucky  ought  to  be  taken  into  union 
with  the  United  States  of  America,  and  enjoy  equal 
privileges  in  common  with  the  other  States  ;  and  then 
they  referred  the  subject  over  again  to  another  con- 
vention, to  assemble  in  August. 

And  this,  also,  met ;  for  the  Kentuckians  followed 
their  political  affairs  with  all  the  determination  and 
Beal  with  which  they  had  conquered  the  country  from 
the  savages. 

Gen.  Wilkinson  was  a  member  of  tliis  convention, 
and  in  its  name  gave  forth  an  address  which,  in  ita 
power  of  expression,  carried  great  influence.     It  wai 


51 G  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    EOOXK. 

-piickened  hy  tlie  i>eliot',  fMnndrxl  on  what  they  hoard 
IVniu  Yincennes,  that  the  imliaus  had  not  mei'ely  not 
relinijuislied  the  idea  of  a  genei'al  war,  but  were  <ir- 
ganizingfortlic  purpose.  Tliey  urged  thej^eopleeveiy 
wliere  to  organize  and  prepare  for  defence.  They  ap- 
pointed deputies  to  proceed  to  Virginia,  to  presen 
their  address  to  tlie  authorities,  in  whose  power  its 
fulfillment  existed.  Tliese  bold  pioneers  made  two  law- 
yers (Muter  and  Jarvis)  their  representatives,  and 
awaited  calmly  the  result  of  their  labors.  How  stranire- 
ly  the  services  of  one  of  these — Chief  Justice  Muter — 
were  remunerated,  the  records  of  his  neglect  show. 

The  Legislature  of  Virginia  was  composed  of  men 
too  wise  not  to  see  that  separation  was  inevitable.  Sep- 
arated from  the  parent  State  by  a  distance  and  by 
difficulties  of  communication,  in  tliose  days  most  for- 
mi<lable,  they  saw  that  Kentuckians  would  not  long 
sul)mit  to  be  ruled  by  those  whose  power  was  so  far 
removed  as  to  surround  every  approach  to  it  with 
the  greatest  embari-assment.  It  was, without  its  wrongs, 
and  tyranny,  and  misgovernment,  the  repetition  of 
the  circumstances  of  the  Crown  and  tiie  Colonies; 
and  with  good  judgment,  and,  as  the  beautiful  lan- 
guage used  by  the  Dansville  convention  expressed  it, 
with  sole  intent  to  bless  its  people,  they  agreed  to  a 
dismemberment  of  its  parts,  to  secure  the  happiness 
^f  the  whole. 

IJut  tlie  Kentuckians  were  called  to  another  con 


CHIEF    JUSTICE    MAiiSllALL.  317 

rention  at  Dansville,  in  September,  178G.  To  this 
the  delegates  were  elected,  but  circurast-mces  conse- 
quent upon  the  Indian  hostilities,  to  which  reference 
will  be  made,  prevented  the  assemblage  of  a  quorum. 
Those  who  were  in  session,  with  a  good  sense  which 
might  often  felicitously  be  imitated  in  modern  legis- 
latures, did  not  assume  to  act  for  the  whole  body  ; 
but  organizing  as  a  committee,  represented  the  cir- 
cumstances to  the  autliorities  of  Virginia. 

Their  communication  was  committed  to  the  care 
and  charge  of  John  Marshall,  that  glorious  chief  pil- 
lar in  the  fabric  of  American  jurisprudence.  He 
gave  to  young  Kentucky  the  advocacy  which  he,  in 
his  quick  and  strong  mind,  saw  she  deserved  ;  and  it 
will  always  be  a  bright  record  in  the  history  of  both 
States,  that  his  great  name  is  linked  with  tlie  act  that 
made  two  great  commonwealths  of  one. 

But  the  convention  had  to  meet  again  !   and  when 
it  did  meet,  the  determination  for  independent  sove 
reign ty  was  unanimous.     Surely,  after  so  many,  wea 
ried  nature  would  seek  for  some  conclusion. 

It  will  be  well,  before  returning  to  where  Boon« 
was  quietly  pursuing  his  agricultural  labors,  diversi 
lied  by  the  sound  of  his  rifle  in  the  chase  and  hunt — 
all  the  while  fearing  the  craft  of  the  speculator  and 
the  land-jobber  more  than  he  did  the  fierce  face  of 
the  Indian  —  to  thread  out  this  long  line  of  conven- 
tions     A  belief  that  there  existed  a  disposition  in 


3 IS  LIFE    OF    DA^s^IEL   BOONE. 

Congress  to  cede  away  what  was  to  all  tLese  settlers 
—  and  justly — considered  an  inestimable  right,  the 
navigation  of  the  Mississippi,  entered  now  into  the 
public  mind  to  an  extent  which  seriously  embarrassed 
the  question  of  the  independence  of  the  State. 

The  time  fixed  in  which  the  consent  of  Congress 
was  to  be  obtained,  was  deemed  too  short,  and  an  ei- 
Vension  asked  for,  and  the  Virginia  Legislature  re- 
vised the  act,  so  as  to  call  another  convention  to  he 
held  at  Dansville^  in  September,  1787. 

'  January  1st,  1789,  was  fixed  upon  as  the  period 
when,  if  the  convention  agreed,  the  laws  of  Virginia 
Bhould  cease,  and  the  agreement  of  Congress  was  to 
be  had  before  July  4:th,  1788.  But  in  the  mean  time, 
the  other  convention  had  found  a  quorum,  and  agreed 
to  the  former  conditions.  This  state  of  things  brought 
the  affair,  after  all  its  vexatious  delays,  about  to  its 
starting  point,  rather  than  to  a  termination. 

Under  a  belief  that  the  navigation  of  the  Missis 
Bippi  was  really  about  to  be  diplomatised  away,  a 
spirited  letter  was  issued  to  the  Kentuckians — signed 
among  others  by  Justice  Muter  —  recommending  a 
convention  at  Dansville  again !  and  that  celebrated 
place  of  convocation  w^itnessed  another,  which,  how 
ever,  dispersed  without  action. 

Then,  in  conformity  with  the  last  act  of  Virginia, 
another  convention  was  elected  —  which  Dansville 
again  entertained,  and  who  reiterated  that  they,  lik(i 


FIKST   DELEGATE  TO   COMOIUCSS.  319 

their  predecessors,  were  unanimoiisly  in  favor  of  be 
ing  a  sovereign  State,  and  not  a  dependency  even  of 
venerable  Virginia. 

They  sent  their  proceedings  to  the  Virginia  Legis- 
lature, and  asked  that  they  might  select  a  delegate 
to  Congress,  who  should  urge  that  body  to  agree  to 

the  separation. 

Virginia  agreed  to  the  choice  of  a  delegate,  anc 
Kentucky,  not  exactly  as  a  separate  organization, 
but  yet  not  entirely  as  included  in  Virginia,  first 
made  itself  known  in  that  Federal  Legislature,  where, 
in  after  years,  her  voice  was  to  be  heard  -  of  all  oth- 
ers most  eloquently -by  Mr.  John  Brown,  a  lawyer 
of  great  talent,  and  whose  popularity  was  emmently 
deserved  It  was  now  decreed  that  the  power  of  Vir- 
ginia should  cease  on  the  last  day  of  1788,  and-with 
resistless  destiny -the  Kentuckians  were  reqmred  to 
elect  delegates  to  another  convention !  to  be  held  at 
DansviUo,  to  form  a  constitution. 

But,  in  the  mean  time,  Congress  itself  had  inter- 
posed between  it  and  its  powers  and  duties,  the  action 
of  the  -reat  Constitutional  Convention  of  Philadel- 
phia over  which  George  Washington  presided,  and 
the  result  of  whose  labors  was  that  instrument  whose 
desi-n  was'to  form  a  more  perfect  union -establish 
justice,  ensure  domestic  tranquility,  provide  for  the 
common  defense,  promote  the  general  welfare,  and 
wcure  the  blessings  of  Uberty"-and  which  great  work 


52U  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

the  experiences  of  ti  half  century  and  more,  show  has 
been  so  well  performed.  Such  were  the  delays  in 
the  action  of  Congress,  that  the  question  of  the  ad 
mission  of  Kentucky  was  not  taken  up  till  the  tliirti- 
eth  of  July,  while  the  law  of  Virginia  required  the 
whole  to  be  consummated  by  the  fourth  ! 

It  belongs  to  the  liistory  of  Kentucky,  and  not  to 
that  of  Boone,  to  trace  out  the  effect  which  all  this 
delay  produced.  Whether  that  bold  people  did  not 
seriously,  by  some  of  their  leading  minds,  debate  the 
question  whether,  as  they  had  so  often  been  foiled  in 
their  attempt  to  become  one  of  the  Union,  they  had 
not  the  strength  and  energy  to  go  on  to  greatness  with- 
out it — is  for  the  historian  of  Kentucky  to  determine, 
by  a  laborious  and  patient  investigation.  The  ques- 
tion is  now  only  one  of  curious  history,  and  the  time 
will  soon  come  when  it  will  be,  in  all  its  features, 
presented  to  the  student,  as  illustrating  the  Age. 

Acting  under  the  law  of  Virginia,  a  convention  as 
sembled  to  form  a  constitution  for  Kentucky.  As 
Congress  had  passed  a  resolution  for  its  admission  on 
the  fourth  of  July,  1789,  though  it  was  the  postpone- 
ment of  a  year,  yet  there  seemed  a  remarkable  prob- 
ability that  the  end  was  coming.  This  convention, 
however,  was  most  occupied  in  the  discussion  of  the 
separate  independence  question,  which,  fortunately, 
wliile  it  blazed  up  very  lightly  for  a  time,  had  no  en 
during  strength 


ADMITTED    AS    A    STATE.  32i 

Now  Virginia  took  anotlier  act  in  the  drama,  aua 
passed  a  third  act,  requiring  Kentucky  to  elect  dele 
^ates  to  another  convention  in  Dansville  !  in  July 
1789,  and  it  assembled.  By  this  time,  the  habit  o 
assembling  at  this  famous  place  must  have  become 
familiar.  Not  yet  was  the  way  clear.  Virginia  had 
interposed  certain  conditions  to  her  acquiescence  to 
the  separation,  to  which  the  Kentuckians  declined  to 
accede  ;  and  absolutely  another  convention  was  called 
to  assemble  in  1790.  And  this,  too,  assembled,  and 
as  Virginia,  by  subsequent  legislation,  had  removed 
the  obnoxious  conditions,  the  formal  act  of  separation 
was,  at  last,  after  all  this  weary  procedure,  establish- 
ed. Another  convention  assembled  and  formed  a 
constitution.  On  the  earnest  recommendation  ^  of 
Gen.  Washington  —  on  the  fourth  of  February,  1791 
—  Kentucky,  by  act  of  Congress,  was  admitted  as  a 
sovereign  State  ;  accomplishing  this  good  purpose  by 
perseverance  under  a  series  of  vexatious  difficulties, 
the  moiety  of  which  would  have  been  resorted  to,  by 
less  patriotic  communities,  as  cause  for  finding  that 
independence  by  the  strong  arm,  which  the  law 
refused. 

Not  Boonesborough,  in  all  its  nine  days'  hard  fight- 
ing, sustained  a  longer  siege  than  did  Dansville  in 
her  most  numerous  conventions.     It  was  great  in- 
gratitude to  her,  after  aL  her  experiences,  to  remove 
N*  21 


JL'2  life    of    DANIEL    BOONE. 

the   seat   ot   government,  as   -was   done  in  1792,  t<. 
Lexington. 

"While  Dansville  was  thus  witnessing  sv  ch  a  j  ro- 
cession  of  conventions,  and  the  pen  and  the  voice 
were  assuming  the  power  which  will  always  vest  in 
them,  after  strength  has  prepared  their  way,  the  com- 
mon affairs  of  life  among  the  frontier  inhabitants 
went  on.  They  had  laid  the  foundation  of  their  fu 
tare  home  in  the  midst  of  peril,  of  difficulty,  of  dan 
ger,  of  death.  How  many  of  those  who  thus  found 
that  their  possession  of  the  rich  and  good  land  was 
only  accomplished  by  privation  and  suffering,  as  they 
reflected  upon  the  quiet  and  prosperity  of  those 
homes  in  the  Atlantic  States  which  they  had  left,  but 
felt  sometimes  as  if  they  would  say  with  the  Jews  of 
old  —  "  No  :  but  we  will  go  into  the  land  of  Egypt, 
where  we  shall  see  no  war,  nor  hear  the  sound  of  the 
trumpet,  nor  have  hunger  of  bread,  and  there  will 
we  dwell." 

With  more  firmness  than  was  possessed  by  the  peo- 
ple of  the  chosen  land,  the  settlers  adhered  to  their 
homes,  surviving  all  the  horrors  of  Indian  warfare, 
and  every  hour  becoming  more  sensible  that  in  Ken- 
tucky, in  its  abundant  development  of  all  the  richea 
cf  a  luxuriant  land,  they  had  found  an  estate  for 
which  it  was  worth  while  to  endure  the  perils  of  the 
frontier. 

Boone  saw  all  these  conventionfl  come  and  go,  and 


BOONE    IN    TROUBLE.  323 

it  is  most  probable,  with  his  simple  and  direcV  idea 
of  what  should  constitute  the  dealing  of  n^an  to  man^ 
thought  the  country  of  his  settlement  no  gainer  by  so 
much  of  form.  While  so  much  trouble  was  taken  to 
move  on  in  strict  correctness  towards  sovereignty  as  a 
State.  Boone  felt  that  the  individual  did  not  fare  so 
well.  He  found  that  for  the  possession  of  land,  how 
much  soever  different  in  its  acquisition,  the  counsel 
of  a  good  lawyer  was  more  valuable  than  the  accura 
cy  or  skill  of  the  hunter ;  and  the  quiet  of  the  place 
which  he  occupied  near  Boonesborough,  was  disturb- 
ed by  the  efforts  of  certain  persons  to  dispossess  him 
of  it  on  account  of  some  informality  in  its  location. 

Thispart  of  Boone's  history  is  but  imperfectly  known. 
It  is  evident  by  the  language  of  his  memorial  addressed 
to  the  Legislature  of  Kentucky  in  1812,  that  very 
Boon  after  the  immediate  troubles  with  the  Indians 
had  ceased,  and  he  had  begun  to  improve  the  land 
to  which  he  thought  he  had  secured  possession,  legal 
proceedings  were  commenced  against  him.  He  soon 
found  that  his  series  of  troubles  which  had  begun  in 
the  disastrous  loss  of  his  money,  when  he  had  collect- 
ed it,  and  was  on  his  way  to  buy  land,  that  this  seriea 
of  disaster  had  not  finished.  Boone  felt  that  he  had 
pointed  the  way  to  this  noble  inheritance.  He  knew 
that  he  had  defended  it  amidst  a  thousand  perils  — 
that  for  it  he  had  sacrificed  lives  little  less  dear  to 
Uim  than  his  own,  and  he  could  not  understand  the 


324  Llt^E    OF    DAIJIEL    IJOUNE. 

justice  of  making  a  set  of  complicated  forms  superioi 
to  an  honest  occupancy  of  land,  which  he  had  se- 
lected, as  he  believed,  when  and  where  it  was  hia 
right. 

The  land  title  law  of  Virginia  was  calculated  for 
the  benefit  of  the  acute  speculator.  It  w^as  not  a  law 
for  Boone,  and  Kenton,  and  the  pioneers,  and  they 
melted  away  beneath  it.  They  were  sued,  and  they 
defended  as  best  they  could.  They  resorted  to  coun- 
sel, and  went  to  court,  but  the  whole  affair  was  vex- 
atious. It  was  not  that  they  could  weaken  the  power 
or  authority  of  the  law,  but  they  could  not  divest 
themselves  of  the  belief  that  the  land  was  theirs  by 
their  settlement  of  it,  maintained  against  the  savage 
80  long ;  and  when  they  found  that  their  fair  posses- 
sions, by  reason  of  defect  in  the  manner  of  location, 
were  vested  in  others,  it  gave  them  an  unhappy  feel- 
ing towards  the  law  itself. 

Boone  lost  his  farm.  Coming  to  the  country,  and 
living  in  it  when  the  foot  of  no  other  white  man  trod 
its  leaves  —  daring  all  the  peril  of  Indian  and  beast — 
hunted  —  captured  —  fighting  and  conquering —  he 
found  himself  in  his  own  beloved  Kentucky,  witlicut 
possessions.  There  was  land  for  the  tliousands,  but 
QO  land  for  him.  In  his  memorial  to  the  Kentucky 
Legislature,  after  relating  the  loss  of  all  his  money  by 
robbery,  he  mournfully  says,  that  the  few  Ian  Is  he 
did  locate  were  swallowed  up  by  better  claims.     It  ig 


A    THRILLING    RKCITAL.  325 

difficult  for  IIS  to  nnderstnnrl,  at  tin's  (lav,  how  a  com 
miinity  could  allow  this  brave  Pioneer  to  be  divested 
of  the  hiiul  his  co^;rage  aiid  enterpi-ise  had  won. 

Kentucky  was  not  yet  free  from  the  Indians,  and 
tlie  story  of  the  numerous  adventures  that  befell  her 
sons,  as  they  have  been  gathered  in  Collins'  excel 
lent  history,  make  a  group  of  recitals,  having  the  in- 
terest of  exciting  romance.  One  of  the  most  curious 
of  these  is  related  by  McGinn g  : 

"  hi  the  month  of  August,  1786,  Mr.  Francis  Downing, 
then  a  mere  lad,  was  living  in  a  fort,  where  subsequently 
some  iron  works  were  erected  by  Mr.  Jacob  Myers,  which 
are  now  known  by  the  name  of  the  State  Creek  Works,  and 
are  now  the  property  of  Col.  Thomas  Dye  O wings.  About 
the  ]6th,  a  young  man  belonging  to  the  fort  called  upon 
Downing,  and  requested  his  assistance  in  hunting  fjr  a  horse 
which  had  strayed  away  on  the  preceding  evening.  Down  • 
ing  readily  complied,  and  the  two  friends  traversed  the 
woods  in  every  direction,  until  at  length,  towards  evening, 
they  found  themselves  in  a  wild  valley,  at  the  distance  of 
Rix  or  seven  miles  from  the  fort.  Here  Downing  became 
Alarmed,  and  repeatedly  assured  his  elder  companion,  (whose 
viame  was  Yates,)  that  he  heard  sticks  cracking  behind  them, 
tnd  was  confident  that  hidians  were  dogging  them.  Yates 
oeing  an  experienced  hunter,  and  from  habit  grown  indiffer- 
ent to  the  dangers  of  the  woods,  diverted  himself  freely  at 
Jie  expense  of  his  young  companion,  often  enquiring  at  what 
price  he  rated  his  scalp,  and  offering  to  insure  it  for  a  six- 
pence.  Downing,  however,  was  not  so  easily  satisfied.  He 
observed,  that  in  whatever  direction  they  turned  the  same 
•minous  sounds  continued  to  haunt  thrii.  and  as  Yatos  stilJ 


320  LIFE   OF   DANIEL  BdONE. 

h  fated  his  fears  with  the  most  perfect  indifferciKe,  he  detef 
Miiiied  to  take  h  s  mecksures  upon  his  own  responsibility 
ciradually  slacking  his  pace,  he  permitted  Yates  to  advance 
twenty  or  thirty  steps  in  front  of  him,  and  immediately  af 
Cerwards  descending  a  gentle  hill,  he  suddenly  sprung  aside, 
and  hid  himself  in  a  thick  cluster  of  *vhortleberry  bushes. 
Vates,  who  at  that  time  was  performing  some  woodlan 
ditty  to  the  full  extent  of  his  lungs,  was  too  much  pleased 
with  his  own  voice  to  attend  to  either  Downing  or  the  [n 
dians,  and  was  quickly  out  of  sight. 

"  Scarcely  had  he  disappeared,  when  Downing,  to  his  un- 
speakable terror,  beheld  two  savages  put  aside  the  stalks  of 
a  cane-brake,  and  look  out  cautiously  in  the  direction  Yates 
had  taken.  Fearful  that  they  had  seen  him  step  aside,  he 
determined  to  fire  upon  them,  and  trust  to  his  heels  for  safe- 
ty, but  so  unsteady  was  his  hand,  that  in  raising  the  gun  to 
his  shoulder,  she  went  off  before  he  had  taken  aim.  He 
lost  no  time  in  following  her  example,  and  after  running  fifty 
yards,  he  met  Yates,  who,  alarmed  at  the  report,  was  hastily 
retracing  his  steps.  It  was  not  necessary  to  enquire  what 
was  the  matter.  The  enemy  were  in  full  view,  pressing  for- 
ward with  great  rapidity.  Yates  would  not  outstrip  Down- 
ing, but  ran  by  his  side,  although  in  so  doing  he  risked  both 
of  their  lives.  The  Indians  were  well  acquainted  with  the 
country,  and  soon  took  a  path  that  diverged  from  the  one 
the  whites  followed  at  one  point,  and  rejoined  it  at  another, 
bearing  the  same  relation  to  it  that  the  string  does  to  the 
bow.  The  two  paths  were  at  no  point  distant  from  each 
other  more  than  one  hundred  yards,  sc  that  Yates  and  Down- 
ing could  easily  see  the  enemy  gaining  rapidly  upon  them. 
They  reached  the  point  of  re-union  first,  however,  and  quickly 
came  to  a  deep  gully,  which  it  was  necessary  to  cross  or  re- 
U-ace  their  steps      Yates  cleared  it  without  difficulty,  bu< 


REMARKABLE   ESCAPE.  321 

Downing,  being  much  exhausted,  fell  short ;  and  tailing  with 
his  breast  against  the  opposite  bank,  rebounded  with  vio- 
lence, and  fell  at  full  length  upon  the  bottom.  The  Indiana 
crossed  the  ditch  a  few  yards  below  him,  and  eager  for  the 
capture  of  Yates,  continued  the  pursuit,  without  appearing 
to  notice  Downing.  The  latter,  who  at  first  had  given  him- 
s>if  up  for  lost,  quickly  recovered  his  strength,  and  began  to 
walk  slowly  around  the  ditch,  fearing  to  leave  it,  lest  the 
enemy  should  see  him.  As  he  advanced,  however,  the  ditch 
became  more  shallow,  until  it  ceased  to  protect  him  at  all. 
Looking  round  cautiously,  he  saw  one  of  the  Indians  return- 
ing, apparently  in  quest  of  him.  Unfortunately  he  had  neg- 
lected to  re-load  his  gun,  while  in  the  ditch,  and  as  the  In 
dian  instantly  advanced  upon  him,  he  had  no  recourse  but 
flight.  Throwing  away  his  gun,  which  w^as  now  useless,  he 
plied  his  legs  manfully  in  ascending  the  long  ridge  which 
stretched  before  him,  but  the  Indian  gained  on  him  so  rapidly 
he  lost  all  hope  of  escape.  Coming,  at  length,  to  a  large 
poplar,  which  had  been  blown  up  by  the  roots,  he  ran  along 
the  body  of  the  tree  on  one  side,  while  the  Indian  followed 
it  upon  the  other,  doubtless  expecting  to  intercept  him  at 
the  root.  But  here  the  supreme  dominion  of  fortune  was 
manifest.  It  happened  that  a  large  she  bear  was  suckling 
her  cubs  in  a  bed  which  she  had  made  at  the  root  of  the  tree, 
and  as  the  Indian  reached  that  point  first,  she  instantly  sprung 
upon  him,  and  a  prodigious  uproar  took  place.  The  Indian 
yelled,  and  stabbed  with  his  knife ;  the  bear  growled  and 
saluted  him  with  one  of  her  most  endearing  "A^^^J?,"  while 
Downing  fervently  wishing  her  success,  ran  off  through  the 
woods,  without  waiting  to  see  the  event  of  the  struggle 
Downing  reached  the  fort  in  safety,  and  found  Yates  repc 
sing  after  a  hot  chase,  having  eluded  his  pursuers,  and  gained 
the  fort  two  hours  before  him.     On  the  next  morning,  they 


128  LIFE    OF    DANIKL    BOONE. 

.-ollected  a  pArty  anrl  returned  to  the  poplar  tree,  but  M 
traces  of  either  Indian  or  bear  were  to  be  found.  They  both, 
probably,  escaped  with  their  lives,  although  not  without 
injury." 

The  annals  of  Kentucky  are  those  of  bravery  ana 
chivalry  —  so  far  as  those  are  concerned  by  wliom  the 
government  was  made  that  of  the  white,  rather  than 
the  roving  dom'mon  of  the  savage.  Xo  country 
could  be  settled  by  s\ich  a  race  of  men  as  tliose  who 
succeeded  in  obtaming  u  foothold  in  Kentucky,  with 
out  elevating  it  in  trie  ^cal^  of  nations,  as  the  iand  of 
men  who  could  intelligentl;)  understand  and  bravely 
knaintain  their  rigbts. 

To  be  brave  —  to  meet  "^rth  coolness  and  energy 
^very  emergency  —  became  ti  tkeia  a  second  nature. 
IIow  forcibly  this  is  illustrated  in  the  life  of  Boone, 
our  record  shows.  When,  after  he  niid  passed  safely 
through  all  his  captivity  —  bad  made  bis  escape  — 
-4ad  vanquished  his  captors,  first  by  lus  successful 
.strategy,  and  then  bj  his  desperate  battk  at  Boones- 
borougli  —  after  all  this,  to  summon  to  niinself  at 
once,  as  he  did  in  that  terrific  moment^  when  four 
armed  Indians  stood  before  him  —  a  hn.t^,  unarmed 
man  —  to  bring  himself  instantly  into  the  possession 
of  the  calm  courage  by  whicli  he  could  look  them  in 
the  face,  and  greet  those  who  he  knew  had  risked 
their  own  lives  to  enable  the  tribe  to  glnt  their  ven- 
geance on  him — to  do  ad  this,  required  an  heroism 


ESCAPE   OF   MR.    ROWAN.  329 

>f  the  liin^liest  order.  It  was  this  which  here  him 
through  such  scenes,  and  lie  found  in  ah  liis  experi- 
ences—  so  far  as  the  records  of  him  ha  '<^.  come  down 
to  MS  —  no  moment  wlien  liis  courage  or  liis  skill  f 
Book  him.  He  wasted  no  l)i'eath  in  boasting,  bv 
carefully  waited  for  the  precise  hour  when  tht 
blow  should  fall,  and  tlien  gave  it  with  terrible 
enersry. 

Men  in  those  days  communicated  their  courage 
even  to  gentle  woman.  The  history  is  full  of  the 
deeds  of  female  courage.  The  interest  of  the  follow- 
ing will  be  confessed  by  all : 

"  In  the  latter  part  of  April,  1784,  the  father  of  the  late 
Judge  Rowan,  with  his  family  and  five  other  flunilies,  aet 
out  from  Louis\alle  in  two  flat-bottomed  boats,  for  the  Long 
Falls  of  Green  River.  The  intention  was  to  descend  th- 
Ohio  River  to  the  mouth  of  Green  River,  and  ascend  that 
river  to  the  place  of  destination.  At  that  time  there  wert 
no  settlements  in  Kentucky,  within  one  hundred  miles  of  the 
Long  Falls  of  Green  River,  (afterwards  called  Vienna.) 
The  families  were  in  one  boat,  and  their  cattle  in  another. 
When  the  boats  had  descended  the  Ohio  about  one  hundred 
miles,  and  were  Dear  the  middle  of  it,  gliding  along  very 
securely,  as  it  was  thought,  about  ten  o'clock  of  the  night,  a 
prodigious  yelling  of  Indians  was  heard  some  two  or  three 
iTJles  below,  on  the  northern  shore ;  and  they  had  floated 
but  a  short  distance  further  down  the  river,  when  a  number 
of  fires  were  seen  on  that  shore.  The  yelling  continued,  and 
it  was  concluded  that  they  had  captured  a  boat  which  had 
oassed  these  two  at  mid-da}  ^  and  were  massacreing  their  cap 


330  LIFE    OF   DANIEI     BUONL. 

tives-  The  two  boats  were  lashed  together,  and  the  bes 
practicable  arrangements  were  made  for  defending  thenv 
Tlie  men  were  distributed  by  Mr.  Rowan  to  the  best  ad  van 
tage,  in  case  of  an  attack.  They  were  seven  in  number,  in- 
eluding  himself.  The  boats  were  neared  to  the  Kentucky 
shore,  with  as  little  noise  with  the  oars  as  possible ;  but 
avoided  too  close  an  approach  to  that  shore,  lest  there  might 
be  Indians  there  also.  The  fires  of  the  Indians  were  extend- 
ed  along  the  bank  at  intervals,  for  half  a  mile  or  more,  and 
as  the  boats  reached  a  point  about  opposite  the  central  fire, 
they  were  discovered,  and  ordered  to  come  to. 

"All  on  board  remained  silent,  for  Mr.  Rowan  had  given 
strict  orders  that  no  one  should  utter  any  sound  but  that  of 
his  rifle,  and  not  that,  until  the  Indians  should  come  within 
powder  burning  distance.  They  united  in  a  most  terrifio 
yell,  rushed  to  their  cancis  and  gave  pursuit.  The  boats 
floated  on  in  silence  —  not  an  oar  was  pulled.  The  Indiana 
approach  within  less  than  a  hundred  yards,  with  a  seeming 
determination  to  board.  Just  at  this  moment,  Mrs.  Rowan 
rose  from  her  seat,  collected  the  axes,  placed  one  by  the  side 
of  each  man,  where  he  stood  with  his  gun,  touching  him  on 
the  knee,  with  the  handle  of  the  axe  as  she  leaned  it  up  by 
him  against  the  side  of  the  boat,  to  let  him  know  it  was 
there,  and  retired  to  her  seat,  retaining  a  hatchet  for  herself. 
The  Indians  continued  hovering  in  the  rear,  and  yelling,  for 
nearly  three  miles,  when,  awed  by  the  silence  observed  on 
board,  they  relinquished  further  pursuit.  None  but  those 
who  have  a  practical  acquaintance  with  Indian  wartare,  c<an 
€^rm  a  just  idea  of  the  terror  which  their  hideous  yelling  is 
f^lculated  to  inspire.  Judge  Rowan,  who  was  then  ten  years 
old,  states  that  he  could  never  forget  the  sensations  of  that 
aight,  or  cease  to  admire  the  fortitude  and  composure  dis- 

ayed  by  his  mother  on  that  trying  occasion.     There  were 


BOONE   LKA^VEb    KENTUCKY  3? 

Beven  men  and  three  hoys  in  the  h(^at,  with  nine  gnns  in  ail 
Mrs.  Rowan,  in  speaking  of  the  incidt'i.t  afterwards,  in  hei 
calm  way,  said,  '  We  made  a  providettial  escape,  for  which 
we  ought  to  feel  grateful.' " 

The  land  law  of  Yirginia  was  drawn  by  one  of  ite 
most  eminent  statesmen  —  George  Mason;  but  it 
Beems  that  tlie  Legislature  undertook  to  improve  upon 
it.  and  it  was  so  amended,  or  rather  disfigured,  as  to 
make  it  a  chaos  — and  to  bury  up  the  hope  of  many 
a  liardy  frontier-man  in  its  conflicting  interpretations 
w  doubtful  adjudications.  Contested  claim^s  were 
brought  up,  and  contingent  fees  realized. 

Boone,  in  1790,  made  a  visit  to  his  birth-place. 
Whether  this  was  jusr  as  he  was  about  to  leave  Ken- 
tucky, is  not  known.  He  was  kindly  received,  and 
greatly  interested  his  friends  by  the  recital  of  his  for- 
est adventures.  Time  had  not  yet  made  an  old  man 
of  liim,  though  he  was  verging  towards  the  yeara 
when  the  active  changes  to  the  reflective.  He  saw 
in  Pennsylvania  the  progress  of  a  great  State,  and  al- 
though it  was  in  far  greater  prosperity  than  when  he 
left  it  to  seek  his  fortunes  in  the  Carolinas,  the  con- 
trasts were  not  so  great  as  in  the  case  of  his  own 
Kentucky. 

The  hour  had  come  when  Boone  determined  to 
leave  Kentucky.  It  could  not  have  been  to  him  other 
than  a  painful  step,  for  Kentucky  had  been  to  him  as 
9  child  of  his  own  rearing.     He  remembered  well  tho 


332  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOOXE. 

honr  when  he  came  hack  to  tlie  settlements  from  his 
tirst  long  and  lonely  journey,  and  the  glowing  ac- 
count he  liad  given  of  the  land  of  beauty.  He  re- 
membered his  winning,  step  by  step,  the  company  of 
others.  He  remembered  that  he  had  been  a  captive 
in  the  horrors  of  the  grasp  of  the  savages  —  taken  as 
a  spectacle  of  triumph  to  their  British  allies  —  and 
now  he  felt  that  the  Pioneer,  having  served  his  day, 
was  put  aside  and  neglected.  Of  him  it  might  have 
been  said,  as  it  was  of  Kenton,  "  He  lost  his  landg 
acre  by  acre  —  the  superior  skill  of  the  speculr.toi 
prevailing  over  the  simplicity  and  ignorance  of  tlip 
hunter.  His  land  was  left  to  those  who  had  nevei 
struck  a  blow  in  its  defence.  Having  become  too  an 
tiquated  for  the  ftishion  of  the  times,  he  was  kicked 
aside  like  an  old  shoe." 

Poor  Kenton  was  in  worse  usage  than  Boone  —  for 
he  (Kenton)  was  actually  imprisoned.  "  His  body 
was  taken  for  debt  upon  the  covenants  to  lands  which 
he  had  given  away,  and  for  twelve  months  he  wag 
imprisoned  upon  the  very  spot  where  he  had  built  his 
log  cabin  in  1775,  and  where  he  planted  his  first 
corn." 

It  may  be  that  those  who  took  the  lead  in  the  g(v 
vernment  of  Kentucky,  were  too  busy  in  following 
up  the  march  of  endless  conventions  in  their  progress 
to  and  from  Dansville,  to  give  a  careful  thought  to 
'he  fate  that  was  overtaking  the  Pioneer.     Certain  it 


liETUKNS    TO    VIRGINIA.  333 

ts,  that  the  Kentucky  of  this  day  would  environ  suet 
men  as  Boone  with  the  security  of  a  thousand  annsj 
and  pour  into  his  lap  the  treasures  of  her  wealth,  ra 
ther  than  allow  him  to  leave  her  soil. 

He  went  back  to  Virginia.  In  early  life,  the  An- 
cient Dominion  had  called  him  into  honorable  service^ 
and  he  sought  her  protection  again  on  the  banks  of 
tlip  Kenhawa.  Oppressed  and  impoverished  in  law 
suits,  it  was  an  easy  task  for  Daniel  Boone  to  remove. 
He  had  accumulated  no  wealth  of  household  goods. 
His  wife  and  his  children  could  readily  be  transport- 
ed, and  it  is  quite  probable  that  they  were  glad  to 
leave,  as  they  could  not  but  be  indignant  at  the  treat- 
ment of  neglect  with  which  the  father  they  always 
loved  had  been  met.  When  he  left  the  neighborhood 
of  Boonesborough,  if  vision  could  be  given  to  inani- 
mate objects,  the  old  fort  should  have  looked  long  and 
B£L(\lj  on  his  departing  form.  He  had  reared  its  pro- 
tecting walls  at  a  place  where,  when  the  country  was 
first  explored,  the  buffalo  and  the  deer  resorted  in 
great  numbers.  He  had  driven  them  away.  He  had 
driven  back  the  savages  in  their  efforts  to  repossess 
the  soil ;  and  now  he  himself  was  driven  back  by 
those  acts  of  others  who,  but  for  him,  might  never 
have  seen  a  leaf  of  the  foliage  of  the  glorious  land 
Ihey  had  come  to  capture  by  cunning. 


OHAPTEK   X^III. 

IOONb's  influence  over   the  INDIANS SERVICES    IN    PROtUEINti    AN    KX 

CHANGE  OF  PRISONERS HE    REMOVES  TO    VIRGINIA RESUMES    flUNTIN€ 

HLS    HABITS HIS    RESIDENCE    IN    VIRGINIA HE    CONTEMPLATES    RK- 

MOVING  TO  UPPER    LOUISIANA GEN.  WAYNE's    VICTORIES    OVER    THE    IK- 

DIANS BOONE  LOOKS  TO  THE  WEST. 

Before  following  him  to  Yirginia,  it  is  of  record 
that  a  few  years  previous,  while  on  the  Ohio  River, 
Col.  Boone  was  one  of  a  party  who  negotiated  an  ex- 
change of  prisoners  with  the  Indians.  The  circum- 
stances illustrate  the  extraordinary  power  which  he 
displayed  over  the  Indians  in  his  intercourse  with 
them,  so  that  he  seems  to  have  been,  of  all  other  white 
men,  most  distinguished  among  them.  In  the  inter- 
view, Col.  Boone  delighted  the  Indians  by  his  hospi- 
tality, to  such  an  extent  that  they  made  him  and  those 
assembled  a  solemn  promise  that  if  in  their  incursions 
a  citizen  of  that  town  where  they  then  were,  Mays- 
ville,  should  be  captured,  the  utmost  lenity  should  be 
«hc  wn  him  ;  and  this  extraordinary  promise,  to  the 
profound  satisfactiom  of  a  citizen  of  May sv^' lie  whc 
tested  it  with  faint  hope  of  success,  was  kept. 

In  June,  1774,  Gov.  Dunmore  had  selected  Daniel 
Boone  as  the  man,  of  all  others^  most  suitable  to  ex- 


RESIDENCE    IN    VIKGINIA.  335 

ecute  tlie  bold  duty  of  finding  in  the  great  wilderness 
—  as  was  Kentucky  then  in  the  judgment  of  civiliza- 
tion—  the  surveyors  who  had  been,  as  was  feared, 
lost  in  its  recesses.  After  a  most  memorable  twenty 
years,  in  which  a  vast  change  had  taken  place  —  ele- 
vating the  wilderness  to  a  State  —  Boone  was  sent  out 
by  the  land  of  which  he  had  once  been  —  if  occupan- 
cy creates  possession  —  sole  possessor ;  sent  out  to 
seek  a  home  in  a  State  from  which  it  might  seem  he 
would  not  be  dissevered,  for  the  date  of  his  change 
of  residence  seems  to  be  about  that  in  which  Ken- 
tucky was,  through  a  myriad  of  conventions,  joining 
herself  to  the  Thirteen.  Virginia  had  at  that  day  a 
great  company  of  distingi  shed  men  within  her  lim- 
its, but  it  is  doubtful  whother  she  possessed  many 
who  had  rendered  to  the  cause  of  the  progress  of 
mankind  more  real,  practical  service,  than  he  who, 
with  pack-horse  and  humble  retinue,  felt  himself  in 
her  domain  a  wanderer  from  the  soil  he  believed  he 
had,  of  all  men,  some  right  to  call  his  own. 

Kemoving  to  Virginia,  he  settled  on  the  Kenhawa 
River,  near  Point  Pleasant.  Who  obtained  his  land 
at  Boonesborough,  it  might  not  be  easy  to  trace  out, 
in  the  confused  condition  in  which,  for  a  period,  land 
titles  in  Kentucky  were.  It  has  been  said  that  the 
Tieat  of  Henry  Cla}^ — Ashland  —  is  part  of  a  property 
that  once  belonged  to  Boone.  If  this  is  so,  never  did 
land  claim  in  its  history  more  eminent  proprietors; 


336  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

and  Kentucky  might  well  consider  those  acres  of  iU 
soil  identified  with  its  highest  honor. 

He  found  in  his  new  home  many  of  the  incidenla 
of  that  which  he  had  held  in  Kentucky.  He  pursued 
the  chase  with  the  zest  and  delight  that  enabled  him 
at  all  times  to  turn  from  the  world  to  the  woods,  and 
the  celebrity  of  which,  for  a  long  period,  caused  his 
name  to  be  associated  only  with  the  exploits  of  wood- 
craft, unacquainted  as  the  mass  of  those  who  heard 
of  him  were,  that  he  had  been  far  more  memorable 
as  the  founder  of  a  great  empire  —  the  domain  of  civ- 
ilized man  in  the  west  —  than  for  all  his  accuracy  of 
rifle,  or  vigor  of  pursuit,  distinguished  even  as  he  was 
in  both. 

It  is  quite  probable  that  when  he  found  his  hope 
of  a  rich,  and  prosperous,  and  wide-spread  home  in 
Kentucky  taken  from  him,  and,  what  was  worse,  al- 
lowed to  be  taken  by  those  who  must,  by  their  in- 
telligence and  circumstances,  have  known  Boone'a 
inestimable  services,  he  went  back  to  the  woodcraft 
of  his  early  life  with  a  determination  that  he  would 
concentrate  himself  within  his  family.  While  in 
Kentucky — as  he  had  been  its  first  man  —  he  might 
have  cherished  the  idea  that  the  gratitude  of  a  peo- 
ple would  always  surround  his  home,  and  give  him 
always  an  honorable  position.  This  hope  was  taken 
away,  and  he  found  in  his  rifle  a  companion,  associate 
with  all  his  stirrinoj  days  —  the  days  when  he  was  a 


boone's  habits.  337 

leader  in  Kentucky,  and  not  as  now  an  exile  from  it. 
Mr.  Peck  thus  sketches  some  of  the  habits  of  the 
hunter  of  those  days  : 

"  I  have  often  seen  him  get  up  early  in  the  morning  at 
this  season,  walk  hastily  out,  and  look  anxiously  to  the 
woods,  and  snuff  the  autumnal  winds  with  the  highest  rap- 
ture ;  then  return  into  the  house,  and  cast  a  quick  and  atten- 
tive look  at  the  rifle,  which  was  always  suspended  to  a  joist 
by  a  couple  of  buck  horns,  or  little  forks.  The  hunting  dug, 
understanding  the  intentions  of  his  master,  would  wag  his 
tail,  and  by  every  blandishment  in  his  power,  express  his 
readiness  to  accompany  him  to  the  woods.  A  day  was  soon 
appointed  for  the  march  of  the  cavalcade  to  the  camping 
place.  Two  or  three  horses,  furnished  with  pack-saddles, 
were  loaded  with  flour,  hidian  meal,  blankets,  and  every- 
thing  requisite  for  the  use  of  the  hunter." 

"We  are  accustomed  to  speak  of  Boone  as  the  old 
Hunter.  He  lived,  it  is  pleasant  to  reflect,  to  a  very 
old  age,  but  when  he  left  Kentucky,  he  was  yet  ia 
middle  life  ;  or,  at  least,  only  on  the  verge  of  what 
men  call  late  in  life.  If  he  left  in  1790,  he  was  fifty- 
five.  His  residence  in  the  Kenhawa  country  has  left 
few  memorials  ;  but  it  appears  that  his  new  home  waa 
m>t  exempt  from  the  perils  of  his  border  life.  It 
would  seem  as  if  he  was  always  to  be  of  those  whose 
days  are  encompassed  with  peril.  A  report  reached 
Philadelphia  in  1793,  that,  by  an  incursion  of  the  In- 
dians into  *he  Kenhawa  country,  Col.  Boone  had  beeu 
O  22 


3oS  Llb'E    OF   I»A:sii!.L    LiUUAE. 

made  prisoner  or  killed.  Kenhawa  was  far  awa^ 
from  the  best  informed  newspaper,  and  the  colonel 
only  shared  the  fate  which  has  occurred  to  almost 
every  distinguished  person,  of  being  killed  prema^ 
turely  b}^  the  types.  He,  in  all  probability,  taught 
tlie  Indian  that  he  had  not  forgotten  the  aim  by  which 
he  liad  carried  desolation  in  their  ranks,  while  de- 
fending Boonesborough. 

Upon  the  Kenhawa  Gen.  Washington  had  a  large 
tract  of  land.  That  great  man  had  just  estimate  of 
the  value  of  the  AYest,  and  of  those  who  formed  the 
settlement  of  man  there.  He  had  a  sympathy  with 
the  Hunter,  for  he  was  ever  fond  of  those  pursuits 
which  recpiired  the  development  of  the  man.  He  had 
known  what  were  the  experiences  of  those  who  were 
compelled  to  travel  the  illimitable  forest  —  to  watch 
for  their  life  every  hour  —  to  conquer  the  savage  in 
his  own  domain,  and  to  stand  alone  in  the  land,  far 
away  from  the  haunts  of  men.  Such  scenes  formed 
part  of  the  education  of  George  Washington.  He 
and  Boone  knew  what  the  mountains  of  Virginia 
were,  and  had  the  modest  and  unobtrusive  Pioneer 
found  his  way  to  the  Father  of  his  Country,  and  told 
him  that  the  Kentucky  he  had  discovered  had  denied 
him  a  home,  he  would  ha^e  taught  him  that  he  had 
found  a  friend. 

In  many  things  Virginia  had,  in  her  citizen  of  th6 
Kenhawa,  a  companion  to  her  own  famous  Captain 


BOONE    AND    SMini    OOMj.'AKED.  33& 

Johu  Smith.  Like  the  bold  and  adventurous  foundei 
of  lier  greatness,  Boone  had  been  alone,  a  negotiator 
between  the  Indian  and  the  white  man,  and  had  at- 
tained such  mastery  over  the  mind  of  the  savage,  as 
to  win  him,  when  other  men  would  have  been  sacri- 
ficed at  once.  Like  Boone,  Smith  dared  the  peril? 
of  the  wilderness,  relying,  under  Heaven,  on  his 
knowledge  of  the  Lidian  character,  and  his  bold  self- 
possession.  Like  him,  he  at  once  asserted  the  superi- 
ority of  the  military  character  of  the  civilized  man, 
by  placing  around  the  settler  the  protection  of  a  fort. 
Both  of  them  were  men  who  were  eminently  calcula- 
ted to  take  the  leadership  in  the  daring  enterprises 
by  which  the  savage  is  made  to  know  the  existence 
and  power  of  the  white  man.  To  Boone  the  task 
was  more  difficult,  in  some  respects,  than  to  Smith, 
because  the  Indian,  in  the  day  of  the  former,  had 
learned  the  practice,  and  the  very  skillful  practice,  of 
the  weapons  of  the  whites,  while,  in  the  time  of 
Smith,  they  were  unacquainted  with  the  use  of  iron ; 
and  instead  of  the  glittering  tomahawk  hurled  through 
the  air,  or  the  fatal  lead,  the  clumsy  stone  hatchet 
and  the  rude  bow  and  arrow  constituted  the  armory 
of  the  Indian.  If  the  history  be  a  comment  on  the 
skill  and  wisdom  of  the  direction  given  to  the  begin- 
ning of  the  enterprise,  the  success  of  Boone  would  re- 
flect even  greater  honor  on  his  name,  than  has  been 
«hed  on  that  of  Smith,  for  while  the  colony  of  JoKq 


340  LIFE   OF   DAJSIEL   BOOKE. 

Smith  in  seventeen  years  was  reduced  from  nine  thou 
sand  to  eighteen  hundred,  in  that  time  Boone  found 
that  the  woods  in  which  he  had  walked  ah^ne — the 
one  living  representation  of  civilized  man — had  been 
changed  to  the  thronged  haunts  of  a  busy  and  a  pros 
perous  people. 

Virginia  did  not  long  retain  her  illustrious  citizen. 
While  pursuing  his.  ordinary  routine  of  life — the  pio- 
neer and  the  hunter  intermingled — there  came  those 
to  his  home  who  told  him  of  the  glories  of  the  Upper 
Louisiana —  of  the  country  which  was  held  by  Spain 
—  and  it  seems  to  have  been  tlie  destiny  of  that  coun- 
try to  grasp  for  a  time  the  richest  treasures  of  the 
New  World,  only  to  see  them  pass  from  her,  just  as 
their  noble  capacity  to  be  the  seat  of  empire  was  in 
development.  The  visitors  to  Boone  described  to 
him  how  free  and  abundant  were  all  in  that  land,  that 
could  attract  the  settler  and  the  hunter,  and  he  roused 
to  think  that  there  was  yet  an  opportunity  left  for 
him,  at  the  age  of  five  and  fifty,  to  reenact,  in  some 
measure,  the  bold  forest  part  in  w^hich  he  had  so 
stirringly  entered  when  the  page  of  life  opened 
to  him. 

Other  circumstances  tended  to  give  his  mind  a  fa- 
vorable bias  to  those  who  told  such  glowing  stories 
of  tlie  new  country  on  the  Missouri.  The  Mississppi 
would  be  between  him  and  the  chicanery  by  which 
te  had  been  deprived  of  the  home  for  which  he  had 


OONTEMrLATED    REMOVAL    TO    MISSCTDET.  34r\ 

given  his  best  dnvs  in  Xcntnclcy.  Of  liis  sons  —  tl  e 
bright  and  bohl  boy  that  liad  accompanied  him  when 
he  fii-st  led  his  neighbors  of  the  Yadkin  across  the 
mountain,  Lay  in  his  rnde  grave,  where  he  liad  so 
strangely  and  so  suddenly  finished  his  career;  the 
next  had  .eft  an  honored  name  to  illustrate  the  roll 
of  the  dead  at  the  fatal  battle  of  the  Blue  Licks ;  the 
next  had  already  gone,  in  the  active  destinies  of  life, 
to  seek  a  home  in  the  beyond  Mississippi  lands,  to 
which  these  travelers  now  invited  his  father,  nor  ia 
it  unlikely  that  the  message  to  come  was  from  thia 
son.  Boone,  to  whom  erroneous  history  has  given 
the  character  of  the  misanthrope,  was  the  very  man 
to  be  influenced  by  the  pleasant  hope  of  meeting  and 
living  with  those  whose  ties  to  him  were  those  of  near 
and  dear  kindred. 

Boone  was  aware  that  the  country  to  which  they 
invited  him  was  under  the  control  of  a  foreign  power, 
but  he  had  observed  events  closely,  and  he  felt  as- 
sured that  tlie  time  was  near,  when  the  inefficient  and 
remote  Spanish  rule  would  be  exchanged  for  that  of 
the  States.  He  says  "  it  was  tlie  country,  not  tha 
government,  of  which  he  was  in  pursuit."  The  fron- 
fier-men  in  those  days  understood  the  doctrine  of 
"  manifest  destiny,"  as  thoroughly  as  do  those  of  oui 
own  time.  Indeed,  while  we  think  we  are  discover- 
ing new  scenes  of  history,  it  does  but  turn  in  a  circle 
and  with  diflferent  coloring  the  same  grouping  is  pre 


342  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

Routed.     The  interval  of  years  between  the  scenea  is 

so  great,  that  the  actors  and  audience  forget  the  past 
and  imagine  tliemselves  tlie  only  ones  that  have  evoi 
raised  the  curtain. 

His  visitors  told  aim  of  the  simplicity  of  Spanish 
law.  This  touched  the  Pioneer.  If  there  was  a  coun- 
try within  his  reach  where  the  range  of  land  was  free 
—  or  not  within  the  grasp  of  such  men  as  had,  as  he 
thought,  unjustly  deprived  him  of  his  possessions  — ■ 
he  was  yet  young  enough  to  make  his  abode  there. 
Tlie  hunter  spirit  within  him  was  roused  by  the  de- 
scription of  the  buffalo  and  the  deer.  It  seemed  as 
if  he  should  see  again  what  he  had  beheld  in  Ken- 
tucky, when  he  first  came  to  its  woods.  He  had  left 
such  trace  in  its  forests  that  the  memory  of  it  is  pre- 
served to  this  day. 

Evidently,  when  Boone  was  settled  in  Kentucky,  he 
had  no  desire  to  go  elsewhere  ;  but  having  been  com- 
pelled to  leave  there,  he  felt  no  such  attachment  to 
the  Kenliawa,  as  to  render  a  sacrifice  necessary  in 
quitting  it.  That  Boone  did  believe  himself  truly  at 
home,  and  for  life,  wlien  in  Kentucky,  the  words  show 
in  which  he  concludes  his  own  narrative. 

"  I  now  live  in  peace  and  safety,  enjoying  the 
Bweets  of  liberty,  and  the  bounties  of  Providence, 
with  my  once  fellow-sufferers^  in  this  delightful  coun- 
try, which  I  have  seen  purchased  at  a  vast  expense 
of  bl'X)d  and  treasure,  delighting  in  the  prospect  o/ 


filson's  account.  34c 

being,  in  a  short  time,  one  of  tlie  opulent  and  power 
ful  States  on  the  continent  of  Korth  America,  wliich 
with  the  love  and  gratitude  of  my  countrymen,  x 
deem  a  sufficient  reward  for  all  my  toil  and  danger,''' 

That  dream  soon  broke  up.  The  land  specuhatoi 
stepped  forward  as  the  representative  of  "  the  love 
and  gratitude  of  his  countrymen,"  and  Boone  waa 
again  a  w^anderer. 

That  Boone,  in  determining  to  remove  to  the  Span- 
ish territory,  deemed  his  relinquishment  of  American 
citizenship  but  a  temporary  affair,  and  calculated 
clearly  the  issue  of  forthcoming  events,  is  proved  by 
the  language  of  Filson,  in  his  own  account  of  the 
"Discovery,  settlement,  and  present  state  of  Ken- 
tucky," published  as  early  as  1784,  and  which  work, 
it  is  expressly  stated,  was  carefully  revised  by  Boone. 
Filson  says : 

"  New  Orleans  is  in  the  possession  of  the  Spaniards,  who, 
whenever  they  please/may  make  use  of  that  fort,  and  some 
others  they  have  on  the  Mississippi,  to  prevent  the  naviga- 
tion, and  ruin  the  trade  The  passage  through  Iberville  ig 
also  subject  to  the  Spaniards,  and,  besides,  inconvenient; 
that  stream  continuing  so  short  a  time,  and  in  the  most  dis- 
advantageous seasons. 

"  I  grant  it  will  be  absurd  to  expect  a  frt«e  navigation  of 
the  Mississippi,  whilst  the  Spaniards  are  in  possession  of 
New  Orleans.  To  suppose  it  is  an  idea  calculated  to  impose 
only  upon  the  weak.  They  may  perhaps  trade  with  us  up^u 
iheir  own  terms  while  thqy  think  it  consistent  with  \h 


344  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

tereat,  but  no  friendship  in  trade  exists  when  interest  ex 
[>ires;  therefore,  when  the  western  country  becomes  popu 
lous,  and  ripe  for  trade,  sound  policy  tells  us  the  Floridaa 
must  be  ours,  too.  According  to  the  articles  of  the  Defini- 
tive Treaty,  we  are  to  have  a  free  and  unmolested  navigation 
of  the  Mississippi ;  but  experience  teaches  mankind  that 
treaties  are  not  always  to  be  depended  upon,  the  most  sol- 
emn being  broken.  Hence,  we  learn  that  no  one  such  put 
much  faith  in  any  state  ;  and  the  trade  and  commerce  of  the 
Mississippi  river  cannot  be  so  well  secured  in  any  other  pos- 
session as  our  own." 

Anthony  Wayne  (Mad  Anthony,  a  title  his  bold- 
ness won  for  him,  from  a  world  which  nsually  calls  a 
man  mad,  when  he  dares  to  do  more  than  the  indo- 
lent  or  cowardly,)  had,  in  his  victory  over  the  Indians 
at  the  rapids  of  the  Miami,  beaten  them  into  a  peace. 
At  last  the  Indian  was  conqnered,  and  felt,  even  to 
despair,  that  it  was  in  vain  to  contend  with  the  civil- 
ized  man.  Jay's  treaty  seemed  to  secure,  by  the  sur- 
render of  the  north-western  posts^  all  the  advaiitagea 
to  Kentucky  which  could  result  from  the  security  of 
property. 

Kentucky,  wearied  by  what  was  fervently  l)elieved 
})y  her  people  to  be  the  want  of  firmness  in  the 
federal  government,  had  no  question  agitating  it  more 
deeply  than  whether  it  was  not  her  duty  independ- 
ently to  take  such  measures  as  would  lead  to  the  free 
navigation  of  the  Mississippi. 

All  the  signs  pointed  to  the  West,  beyond  the  Great 


THE   GREAT    WEST.  iJlS 

River,  as  the  scene  of  hold   and  stirring  adventure. 

and  Boone  may  have  had  re-illnininated  within  him^ 

tlie  thought  in  which  he  had  years  before  found  hi* 
iding  influence,  tliat  lie  was  an  instrument  ordained 
settle  the  wilderness.     Kentucky  had  been  settled 

but  there  remained  even  a  greater  in  the  broad  land 

beyond  the  mighty  water. 


W&fO  r  rji% 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

toon  I>nGRATES  TVITH  HIS  FAMILY  TO    MISSOURI THE    JOURNEY SPA»- 

BH  POSSESSION  OF  THE  TERRITORY INJUSTICE  TO  BOONe's  SOCIAL  CHAE 

ACTER BOONE  IS  WELCOMED  TO  MISSOURI  BY    THE    SPANISH  LIEUTENANT 

60VEKN0K ARRIVAL  AT  ST.   LOUIS  OF    LACLEDE    AND    CHOTEAU BOONB 

RECEIVES    AN    APPOINTMENT    FROM    THE    AUTHORITIES HE  IS  PRESENTED 

WITH  A  LARGE  TRACT  OF  LAND  BY  THE  LIEUTENANT  GOVERNOR HE  NEG 

LE<7rS  TO  GO  TO  NEW  ORLEANS  TO  GET  HIS  GRANT  CONFIRMED. 

In  1795,  Daniel  Boone  made  the  fourth  great  re 
move  of  Jiis  life.  He  had  sought  homes  in  Carolina, 
Kentnclvj,  and  Virginia,  and  now  determined  to  es- 
say tlie  great  land  of  Upper  Louisiana.  The  settler 
in  that  day,  found  neither  railway  nor  canal  for  the 
transportation  of  his  goods,  and  therefore  concentra- 
ted his  moveables  into  the  smallest  space  possible. 
His  admirable  wife  accompanied  him.  She  had  done 
80  when  he  left  for  the  wilderness  of  Kentucky,  and 
there  waf<  no  remove  now  where  she  would  not  be  at 
his  side.  She  could  not  be  called  to  greater  peril 
than  hud  encompassed  her  at  Boonesborough. 

It  was  a  long,  long  journey.  It  would  be  a  journey 
of  some  magnitude  in  this  day  of  easy  transit.  How 
snucli  more  in  tliattime,  when  almost  all  modern  con- 
venieiice*^  were  unknown  ;  for,  at  the  close  of  the  last 


BOONE   EMIGRATES    TO   MISSOTIRI.  341 

century,  the  arrangements  for  the  road  had  but  faint 
fipproach  to  their  present  luxury.  The  railroad  waa 
only  doing  duty  in  some  cavernous  coal  mine  in  Eng 
land  ;  and  tlie  canal  system  was  but  in  the  specula 
tions  of  Morris,  and  Troup,  and  Watson.  Boone  had 
traveled  long  journeys,  when  every  step  of  the  way 
was  in  immediate  danger  of  the  rifle  of  a  murderoug 
savage ;  when  the  day  brouglit  the  Indian,  and  the 
night  the  wild  beast.  He  therefore  had  no  fear  of  hie 
present  journeying,  but  having  determined  on  making 
this  bold  step  —  this  new  beginning  of  life  —  he  left 
Virginia,  leaving  behind  him  one  sou. 

It  does  not  appear  that  during  his  residence  in  Vir- 
ginia he  experienced  any  unkind  treatment  in  relation 
to  the  land  upon  which  he  was  living.  As  has  been  sta- 
ted, the  Indians  would  not  remain  quiet ;  but  to  dwell 
in  the  midst  of  such  alarms,  had  become  to  the  Pio- 
neer as  a  habit  of  life,  and  it  was  a  danger  for  which 
he  w^as  prepared.  But  Virginia  was  an  old  State, 
and  in  her  no  new  country  was  to  be  found.  He 
went  to  where  much  broader  scale  of  action  could 
be  his. 

Voltaire  wrote  a  poem  to  which  he  gave  the  glit- 
tering title  of  the  Temple  of  Glory.  It  was  written 
to  celebrate  the  triumphs  of  the  battle  of  Fontenay, 
and  to  pour  fulsome  adulation  before  the  monarch, 
Louis  XY.  That  temple,  if  it  exhibited  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  luxurious  king,  was  sadly  marred  fronj 


348  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOOKE. 

its  fiiir  proportions  by  the  treaty  —  the  family  compact 
of  1762,  which  ceded  Louisiana  to  Spain.  In  that 
day  the  work!  liad  not  learned  the  great  lesson  tlie 
first  page  of  which  opened  to  their  stndy,  when  the 
American  Declaration  recognized  the  principle  of  the 
government  of  the  people.  Countries  were  yet  the 
playthings  of  kings;  and  although  war  followed  with 
all  its  horror  in  the  consequences,  the  caprice  of  a 
despot  rather  than  the  will  of  a  nation,  swayed  public 
affairs. 

Spain  took  possession  in  the  same  year,  1769,  in 
which  Boone  left  the  Yadkin,  to  display  the  West  to 
the  domain  of  civilized  man.  The  two  events,  how- 
ever great  the  one  and  humble  the  other,  were  con- 
nected in  their  results.  It  was  the  same  year  in 
which  that  man  was  born,  by  whose  masterly  move- 
ment the  great  land,  of  which  Spain  took  such  feeble 
guardiansliip,  was  thrown  into  the  hands  of  the  States 
■ —  not  from  love  to  them,  but  that  they  might  the 
better  rival  England. 

Charles  III.  became  the  monarch  of  Louisiana,  and 
the  Spanish  law  was  introduced,  and  the  Spanish  rule 
recognized.  Tliat  monarch  was,  however,  in  those 
days,  too  busy  with  his  great  measure  of  the  expul- 
sion of  the  Jesuits,  to  trouble  himself  much  about  a 
country  which,  as  it  sent  him  no  gold,  was  not  likely 
to  be  popular  at  court ;  and  yet  it  cannot  be  but  thai 
*hf^,  exphjrations  of  the  men  to  whom  he  was  then  ai> 


HIS    REASONS. 


plying  a  measure  of  rigor  that  filled  Europe  with  as- 
tonishment, must  have  taught  him,  that  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  control  of  the  Mississippi  R:  ver,  he  held 
a  dominion  of  vast  consequence,  and  one  which  re 
vived  the  glories  of  the  day  of  Columbus. 

Flint  says,  that  on  the  journey,  Boone  was  asked 
nis  reason  for  leaving  the  country  that  had  become 
settled,  and  proceeding  to  the  wilds  of  Missouri,  and 
that  his  answer  was — "Too  much  crowded — too 
crowded  :  I  want  more  elbow  room."  This  remark 
has  been  often  quoted,  as  an  evidence  that  he  was 
displeased  at  the  society  of  his  fellow-men,  and 
plunged  into  the  forest  to  avoid  them. 

Mr.  Willis,  in  a  poem  published  in  1827,  the  pur- 
port of  which  is  the  delineation  of  the  Pioneer,  as 
an  American  Alexander  Selkirk,  represents  him  a 9 
saying  — 

"  I  've  hated  men  —  I  hate  them  now." 

And  for  many  years  it  was  believed  that  such  was  the 
feeling  of  Daniel  Boone  towards  his  race  !  while  in 
the  midst  of  the  open  hatred  of  the  savage,  and  the 
sharp  cunning  and  oppression  of  the  land-jobber,  the 
Pioneer  moved  on,  kind  and  pleasant,  and  loving  his 
kindred  ;  and,  although  contending  for  his  life  among 
the  savages,  so  truthful  and  wise  in  his  conduct  to- 
wards them,  as  to  exercise  over  them  an  influence 
like  Corlear. 


350  LIFE    OF    DA^'IEL    BOONE. 

It  was  for  small  men  and  small  minds  tc  hate  tlieii 
fellow-beings.  Boone,  when  men  injured  him,  step 
ped  out  of  their  way,  and  souglit  the  new  friendships 
Df  distant  territory.  The  remarlv  which  Flint  quotes 
may  have  been,  and  it  is  likely  that  it  was,  the  cheer- 
ful jocularity  of  the  Hunter,  who  chose  thus  to  an- 
swer, rather  than  to  tell  the  inquirer,  tliat  the  Ken^ 
tucky  he  had  reared,  had  neglected  and  driven  him 
forth.  Such  men  as  was  Boone,  too  well  knew  the 
priceless  value  of  the  kindred  of  humanity,  to  clierish 
hate  or  dread  of  their  fellow-beings. 

The  travel  of  the  Pioneer  led  him  through  a  long 
succession  of  those  lands  which,  by  the  wise  policy 
of  the  government,  are  now  so  filled  up  with  all  that 
gives  a  country  a  prosperous  population.  Boone  saw 
that  when  lie  had  called  his  fellow-citizens  to  Ken- 
tucky, he  had  but  welcomed  them  to  tlie  threshold  of 
the  great  domain,  and  with  all  the  vicissitudes  which 
liad  fallen  to  his  lot,  it  was  his  glory  to  know  that  he 
had  opened  the  way,  and  that  while  his  claim  to  a 
home  had  been  set  aside  for  deviation  from  some 
conventional  line,  liis  right  of  discovery  actually 
gave  him  a  title  to  all,  such  as,  had  he  been  a 
monarch,  the  world  would  not  have  disputed.  lie 
crossed  the  Mississipj^i,  and  soon  found  liimself  at  the 
house  of  his  son,  Daniel  M.  Boone,  who  had  so  much 
of  his.  father's  strong-hearted  enterprise,  that  he  hao 


HIS   ARRIVAL    IN    MlSSOtJIil.  35 

placed  himself  in  this  new  country  successfully,  som« 
time  previous. 

Charles  TV.  probably  never  heard  in  the  midst  of 
the  pleasures  of  his  palace,  or  his  perplexities,  at  Mad- 
rid, of  the  accession  to  his  subjects  of  the  great  Pioneer 
of  the  West.  That  there  had  come  to  his  dominions 
the  man,  who,  emulating  on  land  what  Columbus  had 
achieved  at  sea,  had  pushed  his  way  beyond  all  oth- 
ers into  a  wilderness,  more  frightful  in  its  dangers 
than  the  wild  ocean  itself,  did  not  reach  the  king,  and 
it  is  scarcely  probable  that  the  name  of  Boone  had 
ever  been  uttered  within  the  royal  walls. 

And  yet  Time  writes  fair  histories.  In  the  years 
that  have  elapsed,  this  Fourth  Charles  has  a  very  im- 
material grasp  on  the  recollections  of  mankind.  Per- 
haps he  is  oftenest  recollected,  if  at  all,  by  those  who 
spell  out  his  half-effaced  superscription  —  the  legend 
which  surrounds  his  effigy  —  on  the  "  Spanish  quar- 
ter," that  still  circulates  in  the  community,  while  the 
name  of  him  who,  for  a  time,  owed  him  allegiance,  is 
a  household  word  —  the  name  that  rises  quickest  to 
our  li2:>s  when  we  are  to  speak  of  those  whose  courage 
and  enterprise  opened  the  way  to  the  West  —  the 
great  heart  of  the  country. 

If  the  monarch  had  no  thought  of  Boone,  his  fame 
was  not  unknown  to  the  representatis^e  of  his  power. 
Don  Charles  D.  Delorne,  the  lieutenant  governor, 
welcomed  him  to  the  territory.     He  knew  very  wel 


352  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

who  the  Pioneer  was,  and  he  knew  thafc  wlien  it  becanio 
known  that  this  eminent  man  had  soi/ght  an  home  in 
this  territory,  it  would  be  the  means  of  encouraging 
othei-s  ;  and  the  presence  of  the  American  was  desi 
rable.  It  was  feared  that  the  British  and  Indians, 
having  made  peace  with  the  United  States,  might  con- 
sider it  advisable  to  commence  hostilities  against  the 
Spanish  possessions.  To  such  a  foe,  the  Spaniara 
could  interpose  no  guard  so  powerful  as  that  of  the 
bold  men  who  had  learned  the  art  of  Indian  war  in 
the  settlements  of  Kentucky.  The  military  force  of 
the  province  was  mostly  at  New  Orleans.  It  was  a 
far,  far  way  to  that  city.  It  was  somewhat  easy  to  go 
down  thither,  for  the  strong  current  of  the  Missis 
sippi  is  not  an  invention  of  modern  times,  but  to  re- 
turn was  almost  the  impossibility,  and  long  before  as- 
sistance against  the  foe  could  be  brought  thence,  the 
Indian,  reeking  with  his  bloody  trophies,  might  have 
accomplished  his  foray  and  returned  to  the  shelter  of 
Quebec.  So  Boone,  and  men  of  his  education  in  bor- 
der warfare,  were  the  very  visitors  and  residents  that 
Don  Charles  desired  to  see  ;  and  when  Boone  came 
to  St.  Louis  —  even  then  recognized  as  the  great  key 
of  tlie  West  —  the  lieutenant  governor  assured  him 
of  a  generous  landed  provision  at  once,  for  himself 
and  family.  The  government  officer  knew  that 
Dthers  would  follow  \\hen  Boone  led,  and  that  hib 
counsel  and  experience  in  the  case  of  difficulty  with 


HE   IS    KINDLY    RECEIVED.  35S 

the  Indians,  would  be  worth  more  than  the  theories 
of  a  legion  of  those  who  might  be  sent  by  the  crowr 
to  try,  in  the  forests  of  Missouri,  the  old-fashioned 
tactics  which  had  been  successful  at  Goret,  and  Au- 
daga,  and  Truillas. 

When,  in  1754,  Laclede  landed  at  the  point  where 
St.  Louis  now  spreads  it  long  array  of  commerce  — 
of  wealth  —  of  architectural  elegance  —  of  long  ave- 
nues, teeming  with  life  and  vigor  —  he  could  net 
have  thought  that  there  was  by  his  side,  one  whose 
age  would  be  extended  to  a  period  when  that  locality, 
passing  alternately  from  France  to  Spain,  and  thence 
to  the  control  of  the  Man  of  Destiny,  and  from  him 
to  the  plain  republican,  Jefferson,  would  take  rank 
among  the  great  cities  of  the  earth.  Pierre  Choteau, 
a  name  honored  to  this  day,  and  in  this  day,  by  the 
close  relation  it  bears  to  the  prosperity  of  the  Avest, 
came  with  Laclede,  and  survived  to  take  part  in  an 
immense  procession  in  which  the  strength  of  the  pop- 
ulation of  St.  Louis  united.  In  Mr.  Choteau's  remi- 
niscences the  incidents  and  strange  events  which  cha- 
racterized the  history  of  a  country  passing  peaceably 
through  so  many  masteries,  were  embodied,  and  Mis- 
souri can  never  hold  that  page  in  her  annals  value- 
less, which  bears  record  of  the  welcome  her  authoii 
ties  gave  to  the  great  Pioneer, 

Col.  Boune  placed  his  residence  In   the   Femme 
Osage  district  where  he  found  his  son,  and  lock^'*^ 

23 


554:  LIFE    OF   DANIEL   BUONE. 

around  him,  in  his  new  hon-ve,  felt  that  he  had  com* 
where  the  pathway  to  justice  was  less  perplexed  than 
his  experience  had  proved  it  to  be  m  the  land  he  once 
called  his  own.  The  quiet  simplicity  of  the  habits 
of  the  people  soon  attracted  the  notice  of  the  Pio- 
neer, and  they  coincided  with  his  own.  They  were 
a  "frank,  open-hearted,  unsuspecting,  joyous  people.' 
The  Spanish  authorities  gave  to  Boone  the  position  of 
commandant  of  the  district.  It  was  an  office  of  civil 
and  military  power.  It  w^as  such  an  one  as  the  lieu- 
tenant governor  knew  was  well  bestowed,  for  the  mili- 
tary knowledge  possessed  by  Boone  was  peculiarly 
that  which  in  the  guardianship  of  such  a  district,  waa 
most  desirable ;  and  in  the  management  of  land  titles 
the  Pioneer  was  likely  of  all  men  to  be  most  direct 
and  fair. 

His  commission  is  dated  July  11th,  1800.  His  du- 
ties did  not,  in  a  country  where  there  were  but  few 
laws,  absorb  all  his  time.  The  old  Syndic  —  for  he 
was  now  sixty-five  years  of  age  —  could  promptly 
settle  such  differences  as  came  before  him.  The  hun- 
ters could  not  appeal  from  a  decision  made  by  a  man 
who  had,  in  their  judgment,  a  reputation  equal  to 
that  of  the  proudest  in  the  land ;  for  he  had  con- 
quered the  savage,  and  was,  perhaps,  of  all  the  men 
in  the  country,  the  first  hunter  himself.  The  emigra- 
tion had  poured  into  the  Upper  Missouri  by  its  thou- 
sands^ and  th^a*     /ho  came  brought  with  them  tliose 


Ari'OlNTED   TO    OFFICE.  35c 

recollections  of  the  achievements  of  Boone  uhicliby 
this  time  had,  through  the  work  of  ]  Imlay,  and  the 
intercourse  of  an  augmented  population,  invested  him 
with  an  heroic  reputation. 

And  now  it  seemed  as  if,  in  his  advancing  years^ 
Buch  an  estate  would  at  least  be  his,  as  was  somewha: 
commensurate  with  the  value  of  his  services  to  the 
west,  or  at  least  in  recognition  of  them.  Generally 
once  in  life,  what  we  call  good  fortune  aj^proaclies  to 
every  man.  Any  one  who  will  closely  and  accurately 
brill"-  before  him  the  events  of  his  term  on  earth,  will 
remember  some  period  when  he  might  have  been  the 
possessor  of  property.  Of  course  he  will,  with  the 
recollection,  have  its  companion  memory  that  his 
folly,  or  his  ignorance,  or  his  negligence,  put  aside  the 
opportunity.  Sometimes,  without  his  own  act,  the 
violence,  or  oppression,  or  perfidy  of  another  has 
turned  the  hand  past  the  golden  moment. 

Once  before  Boone  had  been  the  possessor  of  land 

land  which  of  all  must  have  been  most  prized  by 

him ;  for  it  was  in  sight  of  the  gem  of  complete  con 
quest  —  the  little  fort,  with  which  his  courage  as  a 
Boldier  was  so  intimately  connected,  and  which  was 
in  the  midst  of  Kentucky,  to  whose  development  he 
had  given  his  best  years. 

And  this  he  had  lost  —  lost  bv  the  neglect  of  those 
who  had  built  themselves  up  in  the  foundation  he  had 
Diade.     A  new  possession  was  now  before  him.     Doc 


^56  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   EOOJSTE. 

Charles  marked  out  and  gave  to  him  eight  thousand 
five  hundred  acres  of  land,  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Missouri  Kiver.  If  Flint's  anecdote  is  correct,  that 
he  stated  that  he  desired  elbow  room,  he  had  it  in 
this  noble  tract. 

By  the  simple  law  of  the  province,  the  possessor 
of  land,  to  complete  his  title,  was  to  build  on  some 
part  of  it,  in  a  year  and  a  day,  a  house.  It  was  a 
wise  provision,  for  it  secured  that  the  land  sliould  be 
put  in  use,  and  the  evils  of  a  great  uncultivated  ter- 
ritory were  guarded  against.  But  Don  Charles  did 
not  require  this  of  Boone,  because  his  official  dut^ 
might  seem  to  require  his  presence  elsewhere. 

A  further  step  was,  however,  necessary.  At  the 
city  of  tlie  province,  JN^ew  Orleans,  was  the  authority 
that  immediately  represented  the  crown,  and  applica- 
tion there  was  necessary  to  make  the  grant  complete. 

Boone  did  not  make  the  journey  necessary  to  pre- 
Bent  this  application,  and  he  has  been  blamed  for  this, 
as  an  act  of  negligence.  Even  at  this  date,  with  all 
the  facility  that  Fulton  has  furnished,  a  journey  from 
St.  Louis  to  Xew  Orleans,  is  something  to  be  consid- 
ered by  an  old  man  ;  or  if  from  the  extraordinary 
fleetness  and  superb  arrangements  of  the  great  stea- 
mers now  on  the  route,  the  comparison  can  not  3q 
made,  in  the  beginning  of  this  century  Fulton  and 
Fitcli  were  enduring  the  scorn  of  a  wise  world  tbi 
even  —  in  words  easy  to  say  —  expressing  their  belief 


NEGLECTS   TO    SECURE    HIS    GRANT.  35" 

of  the  possibility  of  the  future  triumphs  of  steam 
The  Pejtona  and  Capt.  Shallcross  were  unknown  at 
St.  Louis. 

The  Language  of  the  memorial  subsequently  pre- 
sented by  the  Pioneer  to  the  Legislature  of  Kentucky, 
mdicated  that  before  he  left  Virginia,  the  Spanish  au- 
thorities had  held  out  assurances  that,  if  he  came  to 
dwell  in  their  country,  he  should  have  "  ample  por- 
tions of  land  for  himself  and  his  family."  Indeed, 
it  shows  that  Don  Lenon  Trudeau  invited  him  thith- 
er—  knowing,  as  he  did,  what  would  be  his  value  as 
a  citizen. 

He  knew  the  friendly  feeling  of  the  lieutenant  go- 
vernor towards  him,  and  he  may  have  thought  that, 
as  there  had  been  a  readiness  to  overlook  the  techni- 
cality of  a  personal  residence,  his  grant  would  be 
good  in  any  event,  even  though  he  did  not  undertake 
the  formidable  journey.  And  to  him  it  was  such.  It 
was  a  distance  of  thousands  of  miles,  and  into  a  coun- 
try to  which  his  habits  had  not  led  him.  He  thought 
the  friendship  of  Don  Charles  sufficient,  without  un- 
dertakins:  at  his  asie  a  further  mission  to  Governor 
Carondelet.  More  than  this:  he  awaited,  as  a  sure 
result,  the  forthcoming  power  of  the  United  States 
to  be  extended  over  his  new  home,  and  he  could  not 
but  believe  that  his  grant  would  be  undisturbed.  So 
he  did  not  go  to  New  Orleans,  but  remained  dischar 


358 


LIFE   CF   DANfEL   BOONE. 


eriiij];  his  duties  as  syndic  or  commandant  to  the  last 
moment  of  Spanish  power. 

The  easy  French  people  around  him  must  have 
liked  tlie  dynasty  of  the  Pioneer.  Like  themselves, 
plain  and  simple  liearted,  he  had  achieved  "  glory," 
ftnd  this  would  awaken  their  enthusiasm.  He  wa 
contented,  and  found  his  pleasure  in  the  quiet  hori 
zon  whicli  bounded  their  hopes  and  desires  —  and  all 
this  assimilated  to  them. 

Tliat  must  have  been  a  quiet  and  an  orderly  peo 
pie  when  in  their  closest  population,  (St.  Louis,)  Mr 
Peck  relates  "but  two  locks  were  necessary  —  the 
one  on  the  calahozo^  (known  to  modern  police  annala 
as  the  calaboose,)  and  the  other  on  the  government 
house." 


CH  A.PTER    XX. 

nn  VIOI8ITUDE9    Cr    BOONe's    life SALE    CF    LOUISIANA   T  [>   THE    UNTtrKB 

STATES— BOONE    REVISITS    KENTUCKY  — HE    PAYS  OFF     HLS  CREDITORa — 

RETURNS  HOME THE    SOLITARY    HUNTER  —  EXPOSURE    TO  DANGER    AS    A 

TRAPPER HIS  HUNTING  EXCURSION    TO  THE  OSAGE  RIVER HE  IS  AGAIN 

DEPRIVED    OF  HIS  LAND  B^  LAND  COMMISSIONERS HIS  EDUCATION  —  HIS 

CHILDREN. 

In  1800,  the  Emperor  Napoleon  obtained  possession 
of  the  province  of  Lonisi.'^na.  Boone  thus  added  to 
his  experiences  that,  afte  having  been  a  subject  of 
George  II.  and  George  III.—  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States,  (inchiding  a  citizenship  of  Transylvania,  of 
somewhat  doubtful  nationality,)— an  adopted  son  and 
citizen  of  the  Shawanese  —  a  subject  of  Charles  IV. 
of  Spain  — he  now  found  himself  one  of  the  many 
who,  in  all  civilization,  augmented  the  "  glory  of  the 
Empire." 

The  hour  had  come  whe^i  he  was  to  find  himself 
again  enfolded  in  the  protection  of  the  States,  some 
of  whose  most  desperate  battles  he  had  fought. 

The  sale  of  a  great  country  like  that  of  Louisiana  — 
including  the  noblest  river  that  rolls  beneath  the 
gun  —  by  the  will  of  one  man,  has  magnificence  about 
it     It  is  supremacy  and  sovereignty  in  its  high  es- 


3f)0  LIFE   OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

tate.  Napoleon  foresaw  that  liis  true  dominion  waa 
ou  the  land,  and  that  Europe,  and  such  portion  of 
Asia  as  his  armies  could  readily  reach,  was  to  be  the 
Beat  of  empire  for  his  acquisition  and  grasp.  Tho 
prowess  of  the  English  at  sea  he  knew  well,  for  he 
was  not  the  man  to  be  dazzled  or  misled  by  the  pre 
tensions  of  those  who  could  not  perform.  Louisiana 
lay  too  far  off  to  be  protected  by  any  force  except 
such  as  should  derive  its  support  from  a  naval  power, 
and  he  appreciated  that  the  commerce  of  the  Missis- 
sippi was  a  prize  which,  in  England's  hands,  would 
be  used  vastly  to  augment  her  wealth  and  power. 
What  he  planned  was  rapidly  done,  and  when  lie  had 
delighted  and  astonished  the  American  commissioners 
by  a  sale  of  Louisiana  to  the  United  States,  he  exult- 
ingly  and  prophetically  said,  he  had  given  England  a 
rival ;  and  every  hour  his  prophecy  is  building  up 
into  truth. 

But  for  such  motive,  he  would  not  have  thus  lightly 
sold  a  territory  more  extensive  than  some  of  the  most 
powerful  European  kingdoms.  He  truly  gave  to  the 
world  a  rival  to  England.  The  country  he  sold  is 
now  rapidly  fulfilling  the  duty  he  assigned  to  it,  and 
Ihe  years  are  but  few  in  advance,  when  the  great 
wealth  of  the  East  will  traverse  it,  and  England  real- 
ize the  full  consequences  involved  in  the  movement 
of  the  emperor. 

Boone,  in  1804,  foimd  himself  once  more  a  citizen 


SALE    OF    LOUISIANA.  361 

)f  the  Repiiblic.  The  lower  province  had  undergone 
a  rapid  change  of  masters  in  1803,  somewhat  after  the 
fashion  of  the  nursery  song  — 

"  Out  of  Spain,  into  France"  — 

and  in  the  subsequent  year,  the  upper  province  was 
placed  under  the  command  of  Maj.  Stoddard,  of  the 
United  States  army,  and  in  a  short  time  the  laws  of 
^le  Union  were  in  force. 

It  is  the  attribute  of  true  greatness  to  know,  and  to 
iG  in  the  regulation  of,  the  small  affairs  of  his  life,  as 
weW  as  the  larger  movements  on  which  the  eye  of  so- 
ciety is  fixed.  There  never  was  a  man  so  attentive  to 
all  his  concerns  —  w^hether  it  was  the  sharpening  of 
an  axe  on  his  farm,  or  the  execution  of  a  treaty  —  aa 
George  Washington. 

Boone  was  reduced  and  impoverished  when  he  left 
Kentucky,  by  being  deprived  of  his  property  —  by 
numberless  expenses  of  litigation  —  by  feeing  law- 
yers—  by  the  thousand  items  of  expenditure  which 
wait  upon  a  failing  and  falling  house.  He  felt  this 
burthen.  He  was  away  —  so  far  away  from  his  cre- 
ditors that  it  was  very  doubtful  whether  they^ would 
ever  mention  his  indebtedness  again  to  him.  The 
merchants  were  not  exactly  of  that  class,  whose  busi- 
ness would  afford  their  absence  on  a  "  collecting 
tour." 

Boone  cared  not  for  their  silence  or  their  disability) 
P 


862  LIFE    OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

to  enforce  their  claims.  He  toolv  his  riflo  —  the  for 
ests  of  Missouri  were  full  of  game.  He  hunted  long 
and  far,  and  at  last  realized  such  a  stock  as  would 
bring  him  the  money  he  needed.  At  this  day,  the 
hunter  comes  into  St.  Louis — looks  about  him  at  the 
busy  and  crowded  streets  —  sees  in  the  city  only 
convenience,  and  strikes  off  for  his  free  forest  again. 
The  old  Pioneer  revisited  Kentucky.  It  had  great 
ly  changed  since  he  felled  the  trees  to  erect  Boones 
borough.  Transylvania  was  forgotten  or  only  remem- 
bered as  a  curious  piece  of  history.  Within  a  short 
distance  of  his  old  home,  in  Lexington,  was  a  young 
man — slow,  delicate,  feeble,  languid  —  and  giving 
but  faint  promise  of  his  possession  of  that  tremendous 
energy  by  which,  in  after  years,  he  bore  the  name 
of  Clay  to  all  languages  where  the  statesman  and 
the  orator  could  be  known.  Other  great  men  had 
made  Kentucky  their  home.  Her  wars  over,  all  the 
glories  of  the  land  that  Boone  had  eulogized  were  in 
rapid  exhibition.  Men  talked  about  banks  and  inter- 
nal improvements.  Luxury  was  pressing  its  velvet 
"oot  on  the  wilds  where  it  had  been  unknown.  The 
lawyei  had  settled  the  titles  of  the  land  of  the  Ken 
tons  and  Boones,  and  as  their  claim  had  been  set 
aside,  that  of  the  more  successful  and  shrewder  opera- 
tor had  all  certainty  accorded  it.  Kenton's  land  the 
Btate  took  for  taxes ;  Boone's  was  gone  before  even 
that  later  civilization  reached  it. 


RETURNS    TO    KENTUCKY    AND    PATS  HIS    DEBTS.       363 

The  Pioneer  moved  about  securely,  and  witliont 
grasping  his  rifle.  lie  slept,  and  no  yell  of  horroi 
awoke  him.  They  had  harvested  well  what  he  had 
ploughed.  He  felt  that  Kentucky  had  ceased  to  be  hia 
home.  Like  a  true-hearted  man,  he  sought  out  his 
creditors,  and  taking  their  word  for  the  statement, 
paid  what  was  demanded,  and  returned.  He  had 
fully  cleared  the  neighborhood  from  any  unkind  mem- 
ories of  the  man  who  had  defended  them,  at  the  risk 
of  all  there  was  in  life. 

Returning  home  —  though  his  journey  and  its  ex- 
penses had  nearly  left  him  without  a  coin  —  he  ex- 
pressed the  utmost  satisfaction  that  he  had  rendered 
it  impossible  for  any  one  to  reproach  his  memory  with 
dishonesty. 

While  residing  in  Missouri,  and  before  age  had  so 
impaired  his  sight  as  to  make  the  chase  impracti- 
cable, he  hunted  with  a  boldness  that  was  kindred  to 
the  day  when  he  dared  to  remain  five  hundred  miles 
away  from  the  abodes  of  white  men,  alone,  and  no 
other  near  him.  Far  away  —  far  off — even  in  that 
wild  Missouri,  which,  itself,  was  deemed  almost  be- 
yond the  reach  of  civilization,  and  which  to  the  At- 
lantic States,  is  even  now  a  remote  region,  Boone, 
now  on  the  verge  of  three  score  years  and  ten,  hunted 
alone.  In  his  solitary  canoe,  he  seemed,  as  he  caused 
it  to  dart  over  the  surface  of  that  great  river  —  thfl 
Missouri — as  if  he  was  the  embodiment  of  the  forth 


364  LIFE    OF    DAXIEL    BOON!-:. 

coming  power  of  tlie  wliitc  man.  Tlio  Tiulian  tlial  ?a\v 
the  old  Ilunter,  did  not  realize  tliat  he  was  tlie  man 
wlijse  name  had  been  a  word  of  the  wigwam,  when 
as  yet  tlie  Indian  refnsed  to  believe  that  his  empire 
ovei  the  forest  was  at  an  end. 

The  beaver  trap  led  liim  to  great  exposure.  As  if 
it  was  his  destiny  to  the  very  end  of  his  life  to  feel 
the  power  of  the  savage,  he  was  compelled  to  use  the 
utmost  vigilance  to  prevent  his  camp  from  being  dis- 
covered by  the  Indians  of  the  North-west,  who,  had 
tliey  found  him,  might  either  abruptly  have  finished 
his  earthly  career,  or  have  taken  him  into  a  captivity 
BO  remote  that  the  Pioneer's  strange  disappearance 
from  among  men  would  have  formed  fertile  theme  for 
legend  and  story.  The  Indian  of  the  North-west 
had  a  far,  far  country,  in  which  to  hide  from  the 
eye  of  the  keenest  white,  the  object  of  their  cap- 
tivities. 

He  concealed  his  camp  by  never  kindling  a  fire  in 
the  day,  but  reserving  all  use  of  it  till  night.  The 
man  who  had  studied  the  Indians  and  the  woods  for 
sixty  years,  had  no  lack  of  expedients  and  stratagem. 
In  this  beaver  trapping  he  was  for  a  long  time  en 
tirely  alone.  It  was  renewing  the  scenes  of  thirty 
years  before.  When  he  was  disturbed  at  other  times 
by  the  Indian,  he  so  thoroughly  offered  resistance  that 
the  savage  found  tliat  old  age  had  not  crushed  tlia 
8oldier  r>f  Boonesborough.     We  quote  Mr.  Peck's  do 


SICK    m    THE    WILDERNESS.  365 

Bcription  of  another  scene  in  Lis  old  age's  hunting 
experiences : 

"  On  another  occasion,  he  took  pack-horses,  and  «rent  to 
the  country  on  the  Osage  River,  taking  for  a  camp- keeper  a 
negro  boy,  about  twelve  or  fourteen  years  of  age.  Soon  af 
ter  preparing  his  camp  and  laying  in  his  supplies  for  the 
winter,  he  was  taken  sick  and  lay  a  long  time  in  camp.  The 
horses  were  hobbled  out  on  the  range.  After  a  period  of 
stormy  weather,  there  came  a  pleasant  and  delightful  day,  and 
Boone  felt  able  to  walk  out.  With  his  staff  (for  he  was  quite 
feeble)  he  took  the  boy  to  the  summit  of  a  small  eminence, 
and  marked  out  the  ground  in  shape  and  size  of  a  grave,  and 
then  gave  the  following  directions.  He  instructed  the  boy, 
in  case  of  his  death,  to  wash  and  lay  his  body  straight,  wrap- 
ped up  in  one  of  the  cleanest  blankets.  He  was  then  to  con 
struct  a  kind  of  shovel,  and  with  that  instrument  and  the 
hatchet,  to  dig  a  grave  exactly  as  he  had  marked  it  out.  He 
was  then  to  drag  the  body  to  the  place,  and  put  it  in  the 
grave,  which  he  was  directed  to  cover  up,  putting  posts  at 
the  head  and  foot.  Poles  were  to  be  placed  around  and 
above  the  surface ;  the  trees  to  be  marked,  so  that  it  could 
be  easily  found  by  his  friends ;  the  horses  were  to  be  caught, 
the  blankets  and  skins  gathered  up ;  with  some  special  in- 
structions about  the  old  rifle,  and  various  messages  to  his 
family.  All  these  directions  were  given,  as  the  boy  after 
terwards  declared,  with  entire  calmness,  and  as  if  he  waa 
giving  instructions  about  ordinary  business.  He  soon  re- 
covered, broke  up  his  camp,  and  returned  homeward,  with- 
out the  usual  signs  of  a  winter's  hunt." 

He  was  soon  destined  to  receive  what  to  him  waa 
another  confirmation  of  the  great  injustice  of  apply 


366  LLb^K    OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

ing  to  every  individual  case  the  severities  of  a  lega. 
rule.  The  United  States  directed  an  able  commission 
—  John  B.  C.  Lucas,  Clement  Penrose,  Frederick. 
■Rates  —  to  investigate  into  the  validity  of  the  claims 
to  land  granted  by  the  action  of  the  Spanish  govern- 
ment. To  many  of  the  settlers,  this  seemed  like  a 
revival  of  the  troubles  they  had  experienced  under 
the  Kentucky,  or  rather  the  Yirginia,  land  laws.  To 
Boone  it  proved  so,  for  his  claim  was  declared  invalid. 
Tlie  commissioners  were  bound  to  regulate  their  ac 
tion  by  the  rules  laid  down  in  the  law  of  Congress, 
and,  in  those  days,  Congress  held  the  policy  which 
governed  the  framing  of  the  first  pension  laws,  where- 
by a  revolutionary  soldier  had  to  prove  himself  a  most 
decayed  and  bankrupt  pauper,  before  he  became  en- 
titled to  the  bounty  of  his  country.  The  laws  were 
rigid  upon  the  settler ;  while  the  true  policy  would 
have  been  to  have  so  prepared  their  language  that  no 
real  settler  in  the  State,  by  his  acts  showing  that  he 
was  absolutely  a  settler,  desiring  either  for  himself  or 
his  family  to  make  use  of  his  land,  should  be  exclu- 
ded. The  Congress  that  passed  the  law  ought  to  have 
reflected  that  the  most  worthy  of  the  frontier-mei  , 
were  just  those  who  would  be  least  likely  to  know  the 
niceties  of  the  law. 

When  Boone  was  sustaining  the  horrors,  night  and 
day,  of  forest  fight  and  siege,  he  had  no  leisure  to 
•tudy  the  nice  provisions  of  the  laws  which  Virginia 


AQAJN   LOSES   HIS   LAND.  367 

was  preparing  with  which  to  turn  him  out  cf  the 
farm,  which  he  could  scarcely  risit  in  peace,  lest  the 
fierce  grasp  of  the  Indian  should  lead  him  off  to  tor- 
ture and  to  death.  As  Boone  had  not  occupied  the 
hmd,  and  had  not  gone  to  New  Orleans  to  perfect 
this  noble  donation  which  the  Spanish  government 
had  given  him,  the  United  States  determined  that  hia 
claim  was  not  good.  Worn  and  harassed  bj  wars 
as  Spain  was,  if  it  had  been  represented  to  the  pow- 
ers that  ruled  the  land  that  sent  Columbus  out  to  dis- 
cover a  new  world,  that  he  who  had  imitated  the 
great  discoverer,  was  compelled  to  relinquish,  for  a 
mere  informality,  the  rich  gift  which  Spanish  liberality 
had  bestowed,  the  treasury  of  Madrid  would  have 
been  as  low  as  that  of  its  revolted  province  of  Mexi- 
co, or  it  would  have  been  decreed  that  the  great  Hun- 
ter and  Pioneer  should  not  forfeit  Spanish  generosity. 

Poor  Boone  !  Seventy -four  years  old,  and  the  sec- 
ond grasp  you  have  made  upon  the  West  has  been 
powerless.  You  have  risked  life,  and  lost  the  life 
next  dearest  to  your  own,  for  the  West.  In  all  its 
fearful  forms,  death  has  looked  you  in  the  face,  and 
you  have  moved  on  to  conquer  the  soil,  which  you 
did  but  conquer  that  it  might  be  denied  to  you. 
You  have  been  the  architect  of  the  prosperity  of  oth- 
ers, but  }our  own  crumbles  each  time  as  you  are 
»bout  to  occupy. 

Ha  had  defrauded  no  man.     He  had  oppressed  noiie 


568  LIFE   OF   DAlilEL   BOONE. 

He  had  submitted  to  every  fortune  wliich  had  pre&eut 
ed  itself,  and  had  gone  on  rising  above  every  ill  fate. 
When  his  child  was  killed,  he  waited  patiently  till  a 
oetter  day  should  rise.  When  the  cruel  Indian  he.d 
him  in  bitter  bondage,  he  checked  every  disposition 
to  rebel,  and  awaited  his  true  time.  When  he  loet 
his  farm  at  Boonesborough,  he  did  not  linger  around 
in  complainings,  but  went  quietly  away,  returning 
only  to  fulfill  the  obligations  he  had  incurred ;  and 
now  this  last  decision  came  —  even  at  old  age — to 
leave  Daniel  Boone,  the  Pioneer  of  the  West,  unable 
to  give  a  title  deed  to  a  solitary  acre  ! 

Some  time  previous  to  the  date  (December  1st,  1810,) 
of  the  rendering  of  this  decision,  he  had  been  negoti- 
ating in  respect  to  his  land,  and  Mr.  Collins  preserves, 
in  fac  simile,  a  curious  letter.  It  is  very  simple  and 
very  plain,  and  while  it  states  the  meaning  of  what 
he  intends  to  say,  with  sufficient  clearness,  neither  the 
etyle  nor  the  orthography  are  to  be  considered  as 
coming  within  the  range  of  the  scholar's  acquire- 
ments. A  bright  man  in  public  life  in  the  State  of 
New  York  once  said  —  My  language  may  not  be 
grammatical,  hut  my  facts  are  !  And  in  relation  to 
the  virtue  of  spelling,  it  is  not  very  uncommon,  as 
must  be  known  to  all  who  honor  this  volume  with  a 
])eru6al,  that  it  is  not  necessary  in  the  character  of  ? 
great  man,  that  he  should  spell  with  entire  correct 
ness.     If  it  be,  many  are  those  who  m  ist  descend 


LETTEPw   TO    JUDGE    COliUJRN.  369 

from  greatness.     When  Queen  Mary  was  crowned  ii. 
Westminster  Abbey,  a  superb  Bible  was  given  her 
It  is  yet  in  the  library  at  the  Hague,  and  her  majesty 
has  written  this  line  in  the  title  page  —  "  This  book 
was  given  the  king  and  I,  at  our  croronation.'^^ 

The  handwriting  of  this  letter  is  vigorous,  and  very 
intelligible,  for  which  a  little  bad  orthography  at  any 
time  may  be  forgiven. 

It  indicates  that  at  the  time  it  was  written,  this  old 
hunter  was  captive  to  the  physician  and  the  calomel, 
as  he  says  he  is  "  deep  in  markury."  JSTotwithstand- 
ing  all  this  evidence  that  the  regular  faculty  at  that 
time  extended,  either  in  person  or  by  doctrine,  down 
to  that  far  region  of  St.  Charles,  he  still  says  that  he 
is  well  and  in  health.  His  own  constitution  was  not 
to  be  put  down  by  a  drug. 

This  letter  is  addressed  to  Judge  John  Coburn,  who 
was  a  warm  friend  of  Col.  Boone,  and  deserves  grate- 
ful record.  He  was  a  thorough  friend,  and  gave  per- 
Bevering  evidence  of  it.  He  had  migrated  to  Ken- 
tucky in  1784,  and  had  bc^n  engaged  in  business  at 
Lexington.  He  was  a  writer  of  great  ability,  and 
held  responsible  and  honorable  stations  from  Presi 
dents  Jefferson  and  Madison. 

How  little  they  know  the  real  character  of  Boone 

who  think  he  loved  the  life  J  the  woods  because  he 

desired  to  be  alone.     His  pleasant  tliought,  amidsi 

all  his  troubles  it  was,  that  his  children  were  all  now 

P*  24 


370  LUiL    *>!'"    DANIK  .    UtMjXE. 

near  liim,  and  what  lustre  it  reflects  on  the  kindljr 
okl  man,  that  his  •Id  age  was  so  attractive  to  his  chil 
dren  that  tliey  all  clustered  around  him  —  bold  and 
adventurous  men  that  they  were.  Major  Kathan 
Boone  came  to  Missouri  in  1800.  He  has  since  held 
commission  in  the  dragoons,  and  is  living  at  the  date 
of  this  memoir,  a  fine  representative  of  his  noble- 
hearted  father  —  like  him,  fond  of  the  stirring  forest 
life,  and,  in  many  respects,  keenly  allied  in  taste  and 
habit  to  tiiat  which  distinguished  his  sire. 

What  if  all  governments  denied  him  a  possession 
in  land ;  he  was  in  the  society  of  those  who  could 
minister  to  his  wants,  and  by  whose  side  he  felt  that, 
whoever  else  forgot  him,  they  would  not.  But  there 
was  a  duty  which  he  owed  to  them,  for  his  day  of 
enjoyment  of  great  posssessious  was  gone.  No  farm 
that  tl^e  State  could  give  him  wouW  suffice  for  hia 
range  in  the  chase.  lie  must  have  for  that  the  open 
arid  free  forest  uncircumscribed,  but  for  the  cliildren 
and  children's  children  that  were  coming  into  th« 
business  of  life,  another  effort  was  to  be  made. 


CHAFTEE   XXI. 

KKRVrCKT  AS  A  COMMONWKALTH BOONe's  MEMORIAL  TO  THE  LK*I8LAnJM 

ANO  TO  CONGRESS TUE  JUST  RESPONSE  OF  KENTUCKY DEATH  OF  MB*. 

BO-ONE BOONe's    TREATMENT    AT    THE     HANDS    OF   CONGRESS GENERAL 

Lafayette's  RECEPTION — the  contrast  —  the  old  age  of  boone— • 

mS  CHILDREN BOONE  A  HUNTER  AT  EIGHTY-TWO ANECDOTE HARD- 

ING's  portrait SICKNESS  OF  BOONE HIS  TEMPORARY    REOOTERY    AND 

DEATH A  RETROSPECT. 

And  what  was  Kentucky  now  ?  From  being  thi 
abode  of  one  white  man,  surrounded  by  hordes  of 
Bavages,  it  had  grown  to  be  the  happy  residence  of 
more  than  a  half  million  of  civilized  men,  and  the  In- 
dian had  become  a  stranger  and  a  wonder  in  his  old 
accustomed  haunts.  The  war  of  the  Revolution  had 
passed  into  history,  and  the  powers  that  had  been  in 
war  had  cemented  in  peace,  and  were  just  about  to 
break  the  bond  again.  The  voice  of  Henry  Clay  had 
been  heard  in  the  Senate,  teaching  the  States  of  the 
Atlantic,  that  Kentucky  had  come  to  dispute  intel- 
ectual  superiority  with  them.  The  State  that  could 
scarcely  form  herself  into  independency  from  Virgin- 
ia, had  assuuied  a  position  in  the  National  Councils, 
to  which  the  old  States  paid  marked  deference. 

Boone  did  not,  would  not  believe  that  Kentuckjr 
would  entirely  forget  the  mar  that  had  given  such 


372  LIFE    UF    DAMKL    i;<X)NK. 

vast  impetus  to  her  progress.  He  lia<l  jjrepaied  fc.i 
him  a  memorial  to  the  Legislature  of  Kentucky.  It 
recites  in  simple  language — the  dictation  and  ex- 
pression of  his  thoughts,  'though  it  might  not  have 
been  his  conq^osition  —  his  hietory  in  connection 
with  Kentucky — a  brief  but  earnest  word.  It  came 
to  Kentucky  at  a  period  when  her  people  were  pre- 
paring t(^  do  liattle  against  England,  not  now  as  a  line 
of  scattered  log  huts  —  of  frontier  forts,  wliich  might 
have  been  reduced  by  a  six-pounder  —  but  in  all  the 
Btrength  of  a  great  commonwealth,  rich  in  resources, 
and  rich  indeed,  in  the  strength  and  courage  of  her 
sons.  It  was  the  right  time  for  the  Defender  of 
Boonesborough  to  address  a  word  to  Kentucky.  In 
the  hour  of"  war,  the  soldier  is  recognised. 

He  ai)pealed  to  Kentucky.  It  was  the  voice  of  the 
old  man,  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  broad  and  rich 
land,  and  pointing  to  all  he  had  won  fur  those  who 
wei'e  now  in  its  enjoyment.  The  memorial  was  re 
ferred  to  a  committee  of  the  Senate  —  that  being  the 
body  to  which  it  had  been  presented.  This  commit- 
tee consisted  of  Messrs.  Ewing,  Hopkins,  Caldwell, 
Bullock,  and  Walker.  While  he  ap])ealed  to  Ken- 
tucky, he  memorialized  Congress  —  so  that  his  own 
appeal  might  be  seconded  and  sustained  by  the  pow- 
erful voice  ol*  a  State  which  was  seld<tm  h^^.ard  in 
vain  ;  and  tliat  State,  in  a  manner  wliich  showed  that 
the  lapc^e  ol  years  had  wrought  a  great  change  iji  th« 


RESOLUTION  OF  THE  KENTUCKY  LEGISLAITEE.         373 

feeling  of  the  people,  as  to  tlieir  dutv  towards  tli« 
Pioneer,  by  tlie  unanimous  vote  of  her  Legishitur€ 
passed  the  following  preamble  and  resolution  : 

"  The  Legislature  of  Kentneky  taking  into  view  the  many 
eminent  services  rendered  by  Col.  Boone,  in  exploring  and 
settling  the  western  country,  from  which  great  advantages 
have  resulted,  not  only  to  this  State,  but  to  his  country  iE 
general,  and  that  from  circumstances  over  which  he  had  no 
control,  he  is  now  reduced  to  poverty  ;  not  having,  so  far  as 
appears,  an  acre  of  land  out  of  the  vast  territory  he  has  been 
a  great  instrument  in  peopling ;  believing,  also,  that  it  is  as 
unjust  as  it  is  impolitic,  that  useful  enterprise  and  eminent 
services  should  go  unrewarded  by  a  government  where  merit 
eonfei^  the  only  distinction;  and  having  sufficient  reason  ic 
believe  that  a  grant  of  ten  thousand  acres  of  land,  which  h# 
claims  in  Upper  Louisiana,  would  have  been  confirmed  bj 
the  Spanish  government,  had  not  said  territory  passed,  bj 
cession,  into  the  hands  of  the  general  government :  wherefore 

"  Resolved,  by  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Common 
wealth  of  Kentucky,  That  our  Senators  in  Congress  be  re 
quested  to  make  use  of  their  exertions  to  procure  a  grant  of 
land  in  said  territory,  to  said  Boone,  either  the  ten  thousand 
acres,  to  which  he  appears  to  have  an  equitable  claim,  from 
the  grounds  set  forth  to  this  Legislature,  by  way  of  comfirm 
ation,  or  to  such  quantity  in  such  place  as  shall  be  deemec" 
most  advisable,  by  way  of  donation." 

The  language  of  the  preamble  is  just  in  Kentucky. 
It  was  grateful  to  the  old  man.  It  effaced  many  ideas 
of  neglect  ;  though  it  does  not  appear  that  in  all  hi8 
b'fe  Col.  Borne  ev2r  complaired  of  bis  country.     lie 


574:  LIFE    OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

lia<l  t03  much  native  dignity  of  character  to  fall  intc 
that  error.     This  declaration  by  Kentucky  recites  thai 
not  only  the  State,  but  the  whole  country  in  general, 
had  derived  great  advantages  from  his  acts.     They 
who  were  then  representing  the  people  of  Kentucky 
—  a  great  and  powerful  State — realized  by  the  differ 
ent  scenes  tliat  surrounded  them,  to  those  that  cc 
compassed  the  little  legislature  of  Transylvania,  whei 
it  met  beneath  the  great  tree  at  Boonesborougli,  wha 
Boone  had  done  for  them.     When  such  an  illustrious 
authority  as  Gov.  Moreliead — one  who  has  in  the  na- 
tion borne  the  highest  legislative  honors,  and  in  hia 
own  State  the  highest  honor  the  people  of  Kentucky 
could  bestow — when  he  says  that  "  it  is  not  assuming 
too  much  to  say,  that  ivithoiit  Kim^  in  all  j^rohafnlity^ 
tJie  settlements  could  not  have  heen  ujpheld^  and  the 
conquest  of  Kentucky  might  have  heen  reserved  foi'  the 
emigrants  of  the  nineteenth   century  "  —  when    such 
tribute  is  uttered,  it  gives  the  clearest  testimony  to 
the  returning  gratitude  of  Ken^icky. 

The  action  of  Kentucky  was  prompt  —  Congress 
lingered.  When  did  it  not  linorer  ?  While  his  claim 
was  pending,  he  was  called  to  bewail  a  loss  which  to 
hira  was  a  most  severe  one.  She  who  had  followed 
him  from  a  father's  home  to  a  scene  of  danger,  of 
wliich  the  parallel  is  not  now  to  be  found  —  who  had 
mourned  him  as  dead  while  the  gloomy  shadows  of  a 
captivity  were  about  him — who  had  been  near  to  hiiu 


DEATH   OF   MRS.    BOONE.  375 

In  all  liis  varying  fortunes — who  had  faithfully  and 
lovingly  brought  up  sons  and  daughters  to  cherish 
and  to  love  him — who  had  been  by  his  side  when  the 
murderous  blow  of  the  savage  had  laid  their  first-born 
in  a  bloody  grave — she  who  had  thus  fulfilled  the  af  . 
fection  and  duty  of  a  faithful  wife,  in  a  good  old  age 
went  to  her  last  home.  She  died  in  the  month  of 
March,  1813,  having  attained  the  age  of  seventy-six 
years.  Far,  very  far,  from  the  home  of  her  own  kin- 
dred, she  was  buried  on  the  summit  of  a  ridge,  on  a 
spot  selected  by  Boone,  and  when  she  filled  the  nar- 
row house,  he  designated  the  place  by  her  side  where 
his  own  remains  were  to  be  laid. 

His  memorial  to  Congress  was  ably  supported  by 
the  exertions  of  Judge  Coburn,  who  greatly  interested 
himself  in  his  behalf,  and  whose  able  pen  told  effect- 
ively on  the  subject ;  and  in  Congress,  by  Joseph 
Vance,  afterwards  governor  of  Ohio,  and  himself  a 
fine  specimen  of  the  old-fashioned  men,  who  blended 
a  knowledge  of  the  trials  and  experiences  of  the  pio- 
neer life  with  educated  statesmanship,  and  by  Judge 
Burnett,  the  persevering  and  efficient  friend  of  Gen. 
Harrison.  These  gentlemen  summoned  the  attention 
of  Congress  to  the  condition  of  the  man  who  had  been 
the  foremost  man  of  the  West  —  a  name  that  even 
then  influenced  Congress,  as  it  soon  will  rule  it. 

Mr.  McKee,  from  the  committee  on  public  lands, 
made  a  report  on  Col.  Boone's  memorial,  on  the  twen 


376  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

f-y-fourtli  day  of  December,  1813.  Just  at  that  time^ 
the  Canadians  and  Indians  were  renewino^  the  inci* 
dents  of  Boone's  day  of  action,  by  their  vigorous  at 
tack  on  tlie  frontier.  The  committee  themselves  re- 
ported in  favor  of  confirming  his  title  to  eight  hun- 
dred and  fifty  acres.  This  was  all  out  of  the  untold 
millions  of  aci'es  of  the  public  domain,  which  the 
United  States  could  spare  to  Daniel  Be  one  !  It  made 
no  mention  of  the  eight  thousand  five  hundred  which 
the  Spanish  commandant — though  a  stranger  —  fully 
ajipreciating  the  services  of  Boone,  had  set  apart  to 
him.  Throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  pub- 
lic lands,  there  lived  no  man  whose  claim  should  have 
been  so  eagerly  sustained  as  that  of  Boone.  The  re- 
port states  that. "  the  petitioner  is  in  old  age,  and  had 
in  earl}'  life  rendered  to  his  country  arduous  and  use- 
ful services." 

This  is  about  as  little  as  could  deceniiy  be  said. 
Contrast  it  with  the  swords  voted  and  the  thanks  be- 
stowed on  those  who  have  flourished  in  some  brilliant 
engagement,  not  worthy  to  be  named  for  real  endu- 
rance and  danger  with  the  siege  of  Boonesborough, 
when  horrid  tortures  awaited  defeat.  Contrast  the 
eight  hundred  acres  with  the  tens  of  thousands  lav- 
ished on  some  scheme  of  favorite  partisans  ! 

"  By  reason  of  strength,  he  had  arrived  at  four 
icore,"  and  in  this,  the  very  last  days  of  his  life,  Con- 
gress, after  less  mention  of  his  name  than  they  Ws.»uld 


GRANT    FROM    CONGRESS.  377 

liavo  <z,ive7i  to  a  snccessfnl  "banker,  from  its  wealth  of 
land  —  a  wealth  so  great  that  the  ingenuity  (and  pa- 
triotism) of  men  is  tasked  to  find  avenues  of  gift—* 
cocfirms  the  lesser  grant  of  the  Spanish  government  I 
Neve;  mind — tliey  have  perpetuated  in  marble  in  tlie 
great  dome  of  the  Capitol,  a  scene  in  his  life  that 
never  existed ! 

"Seven  cities  claim  old  Homer  dead, 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  asked  his  bread." 

Boone  had  never  before  solicited  his  country. 
From  it,  as  from  individuals,  he  had  only  sought  to 
pass  along  through  life,  rendering  service  to  his  day 
and  to  his  people.  Spain  could  not  have  done  less 
for  the  Pioneer,  if  he  had  applied  at  tire  court  at  Mad- 
rid for  the  confirmation  of  its  kindness,  and  in  all 
probability  it  would  liave  done  more.  When  Lafay- 
ette returned  to  our  shores,  in  1824,  like  a  messenger 
from  the  army  of  the  Revolution,  the  Congress  has- 
tened (and  it  was  one  of  those  acts,  so  rare  in  its  liis- 
tory,  to  which  the  whole  Union  proclaimed  a  glad  as- 
Bent)  to  bestow  upon  him  a  quarter  of  a  million  of 
dolLars  and  a  township.  The  noble-hearted  French 
man  had  left  his  home  to  bear  our  standard  in  all  its 
fortunes,  and  so  had  Boone.  He  liad  been  exposed 
to  dangers  which  the  chivalrous  Marquis  never  knew. 
BTe  had,  witliout  the  inspiriting  voice  of  Fame  to 
'jheer  him  on,  pushed  on  his  column  into  a  count  v 


578  LIFE   OF   DAIilEL   BOONE. 

^'Iiere  all  around  liim  was  the  w>rst  of  foes.  He  had 
been  a  soldier,  on  whose  shield  courage  wrote  its 
brightest  legend.  He  had  been  faithful  in  all  his 
trusts,  and,  as  Gov.  Moreliead  witnesses,  "  upheld  the 
settlements."  And  what  were  those  settlements  2 
They  were  the  advance  guard  of  the  great  march  of 
civilization,  which  by  the  bravery  of  those  who  com 
posed  their  front,  were  enabled  to  win  and  clothe 
with  beauty  one  of  the  greatest  and  fairest  inher- 
itances which  ever  gave  man  the  field  for  his  mind 
and  his  strength  to  show  their  capacities. 

The  great  lesson  that  Boone  taught  the  country, 
was  that  the  white  man  could  rise  superior  to  the  sav- 
aere,  even  when  all  nature  seemed  to  be  on  the  side 
of  the  latter.  For  this  he  braved  solitude,  hunger, 
captivity,  torture,  death ;  and  in  this  he  set  an  exam 
pie,  whose  consequences,  we  who  feel  the  might  of 
the  West,  realize. 

Since  his  country  waited  till  he  was  seventy-nine 
years  old,  before  she  rewarded  him,  it  might,  at  least, 
have  been  as  generous  as  was  the  crown  of  Spain,  to 
whom  he  was  but  the  citizen  of  a  few  days. 

At  last  Boone  w^as  awarded  his  eight  hundred  and 
fifty  acres,  and  he  rejoiced  in  it.  His  country  had 
remembered  him,  and  he  had  something  to  leave  to 
those  who  were  his  own. 

The  incidents  of  man's  life,  when  eighty  years  tell 
the  story  of  decay,  are  few.     He  is  happy  who  doe* 


boone's  latest  yeaks.  37(> 

not  become  a  burden  to  tlie  kindred  among  wliom  bo 
dwells.     Boone  did  not.     When  he  could  no  longer 
hunt,  he  found  in  the  society  of  his  children,  and 
grand-children,  an  affectionate  circle,  who  delighted 
m  his  conversation  and  rejoiced  in  every  little  ser- 
vice of  kindness  they  could  render  him.     Such  is  tho 
testimony  borne  by  Mr.  Peck,  who  was  so  fortunate 
as  to  visit  him  in  December,  1818,  wbile  he  was  re 
siding  with  his  son-in-law  —  Mr.  Callaway  —  a  name 
which  the  reader  may  recollect,  associated  with  the 
capture  of  the  young  ladies  from  the  fort  at  Boones- 
borough.     His  personal  appearance  was  that  of  a  re 
spectable  old  man— plainly  clad  in  fabric  made  in 
the  family —  his  log  cabin  room  in  order  — his  coun- 
tenance was  pleasant,  calm  and  fair— his  forehead 
high  and  bold,  and  the  soft  silver  of  his  hair  in  uni- 
son with  his  length  of  days.     Such  was  not  the  coarse, 
rough  hunter  which  men  expected  to  find,  replete 
with  savage  stories  of  Indian  murders  or  border  out- 
rages.    It  was  the  quiet  evening  of  a  life  that  had 
been  passed  in  as  much  of  stirring  incident  as  is  often 
written  on  the  page  of  existence.     He  could  repair  a 
rifle  or  carve  a  powder  horn,  to  be  treasured  up  as 
relics,  when  the  hunt  and  the  chase  were  no  longer 
for  him  ;  and  yet  he  continued  a  bold  and  daring  hun- 
ter to  the  verge  of  his  days  ;  for  in  his  eighty-second 
7ear,  he  proceeded  as  far  as  fort  Osage,  near  the  mouth 
of  Kansas  Eivei,  and  was  there  for  two  weeks.    Such 


380  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

^\'as  his  desire  to  ho  hnriod  among  his  kindred  —  bj 
the  side  of  the  wife  he  loved  so  many  years  —  that 
when  he  went  ont  on  his  semi-annual  hunting  expe- 
ditions, and  age  rendered  a  companion  necessary,  a 
written  agreement  was  made  that,  die  where  he  would, 
his  body  should  be  brought  to  the  mound  that  c  ver- 
looked  the  Missouri  — that  great  bond  of  the  far  west 
and  the  sea. 

Wliile  he  lived  in  this  remote  settlement,  the  sto- 
ries that  were  told  of  him  by  those  who  described  hig 
life  and  character  at  the  east,  were  just  what  imagina- 
tion portrayed.  All  that  occurred  to  the  fancy  of  the 
strange  and  solitary,  was  associated  with  Daniel  Boone. 
He  seldom  heard  of  his  delineators  —  but  on  one  oc- 
casion, when  it  was  told  him  that  a  paper  had  narra- 
ted his  death  as  occurring  while  watching  the  deer  at 
a  salt  lick,  to  which  all  the  particulars  were  given 
that  the  rifle  was  at  his  shoulder,  and  he  died  while 
in  the  act  of  taking  sight  —  the  old  Pioneer,  "  with 
liis  customary  pleasant  smile,"  said,  "  I  would  not  be- 
lieve that  tale  if  I  told  it  myself.  My  ej^esight  is  too 
far  gone  to  hunt." 

Mr.  Harding,  the  eminent  artist,  visited  him  just 
previous  to  his  death.  His  recollections  of  immediate 
occurrences  were  loose  and  vague.  It  is  the  history  of 
the  mind  of  almost  all  ohl  men  ;  Init  he  could  j^et  re- 
late the  tales  of  old  Indian  skirmishes.  Those  event* 
had  become  fixed  in  memory.     The  people  in  his  v'l 


HIS    DEATH.  381 

cinity  were  ignorant  of  liim,  but  lie  had  a  kind  fainilj^ 
around  him,  and,  cooking  his  venison  on  a  ramrod,  afe 
he  was  while  Mr.  Harding  was  at  his  cabin,  the  old 
man,  "  after  life's  fitful  fever,"  rested  easily. 

The  portrait  which  Mr.  Harding  made  is  undoubt- 
edly the  best,  if  it  be  not  the  only  portrait  of  this  ex 
traordinary  man. 

Not  long  after  this  he  was  quite  ill,  but  his  strong 
frame  bowed  to  the  disease  and  recovered.  He  then 
visited  Maj.  Boone,  his  youngest  son,  and  while  at  hia 
house,  a  little  indiscretion  in  diet  finished  the  work  of 

life. 

He  died  on  the  twenty-sixth  day  of  September, 
1820  —  eighty-six  years  old  — a  citizen  of  the  State 
of  Missouri  —  having  passed  a  life  extended  far  be- 
yond the  ordinary  days  of  man,  and  leaving  to  his- 
tory the  fame  of  having  served  his  country  long  and 
faithfully,  by  such  service  as  to  which  the  wealth,  and 
power,  and  prosperity  of  a  great  Nation  now  rejoices 
to  bear  testimony. 

Such  incidents  of  life  attach  to  but  few,  very  few, 
among  the  millions,  as  were  those  which  formed  the 
thread  of  Boone's  life.  Tlie  solitudes  and  the  crowds 
of  the  west  were  around  him.  He  moved  along,  sus- 
pecting danger,  and  with  strong  cause,  m  every  sha- 
dow on  his  path  ;  and  lie  found  the  savage  that  had 
pursued  him  a  stranger  in  that  highway.     The  wing 


382  LITE   OF   DANU'X    BOONE. 

of  the  bird  that  flew  over  his  half  hidden  hut  would 
tire  before  it  fouud  human  being  like  himself;  and 
great  cities  rose  up  in  that  wilderness.  The  toma- 
nawk,  the  scalping-knife,  glittered  in  threatening  ovei 
him ;  the  cruelty  of  the  Indian  awaited  him  ;  tha 
wild  men  watched  day  and  night  to  fulfill  their  yen 
geance  on  him  ;  and  an  assemblage  of  statesmen  ren 
dered  honor  to  his  name,  on  the  track  of  the  savage 
He  went  forth,  as  he  believed,  an  instrument  of  Ilea 
ven  ordained  to  settle  the  wilderness,  and  he  saw  sove 
reign  States  rise  from  that  forest. 

There  is  a  sublimity  in  the  daring,  the  quiet  dig 
nity  of  bravery,  with  which  this  man  went  forth. 
The  danger  that  had  deterred  a  great  company  of 
men,  organized  into  the  frontier  settlements  of  the 
Tadkin,  failed  to  alarm  him.  lie  had  seen  how  rich 
and  glorious  a  land  lay  beyond  the  mountain,  and  he 
had  the  courage  to  tread  its  fastnesses  alone.  For 
months  the  empire  of  the  west  was  concentrated  in 
that  lonely  man — having  neither  fortress  nor  ft  d,  ex- 
cept that  which  he  won  by  his  own  daring.  When 
contending,  brave,  cool,  determined;  but  quiet  in 
victory.  lie  struck  to  conquer,  not  to  revenge.  Hunt- 
ed like  a  wild  beast,  he  seems  never  to  have  clier* 
ished  the  hatred  and  sought  the  vengeance  which  the 
Indian  lighter  pursues:  benevolent,  kind-hearted, 
liberal,  honest  —  so  that  his  old  age  felt  no  quiet  tili 
forgotten  obligations  were  extinguished  —  winaiug  al. 


HIS   CHABACTEB. 


383 


and  losing  all  —  bold  to  do  —  quiet  in  possession  — 
Daniel  Boone  stands  out  in  the  sculpture  of  history, 
the  Great  Pioneer; — the  man  whose  wild  life,  out 
of  the  verge  of  law — with  power  absolute  —  with 
the  hate  of  the  Indian  fierce  towards  him  — i^ve- 
membered  in  the  kind  memories  of  a  good  and  gv  *^ 
career,  unstained  by  crime. 


'jy/^cie^  -  jo/i^sha/  ft 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

UDTTDCKT    THEN     AND  NOW WASHINGTON,  LA  FAYETTE,    BOONE  AND  HAS 

flI90If THE    LEGISLATURE    CAUSE    THE    REMAINS    OF    BOONE   TO     BE    RB 

MOVED  TO  FRANKFORT THE    PUBLIC  HONORS JOHN    J.     CRITTENDEN  — 

CONCLUSION. 

When  for  twenty-five  years  the  remains  of  Boone 
lad  slumbered  in  the  grave  wliich  he  had  chosen  — 
vhen  the  Missouri  ha<l  swept  past  for  a  quarter  of  a 

••entury its  waters  hasting  from  the  ahnost  un 

'nown  recesses  of  the  western  forests  to  join  the  gre? 
Mississippi  —  that  bond  of  the  Union,  into  wdiosc 
swift  flow  north  and  south  commingle,  so  that  none 
can  separate  —  there  came  those  from  his  own  Kcd 
tucky  who  were  charged  with  the  holy  mission  of 
bearing  back  to  the  land  he  had  loved  so  well,  and 
"'istained  so  long,  all  that  was  left  of  the  Great 
Pioneer. 

Kentucky  summons  her  chosen  sons  each  year  to 
Frankfort  to  deliberate  on  the  measures  necessary  to 
tlie  government  of  a  vigorous  and  enterprising  peo- 
»)le.  Tliis  capital  has  a  beautiful  position.  There  in 
much  of  the  ronuintic  in  the  scenery  that  distinguishes 
the   Kentucky   River.     Upon  it,   almost  sixty  miles 


THE   MEN    KENTUCKY    HOiNOKS.  385 

trom  its  mouth,  the  city  is  built;  and  it  has  around 
t  tlie  mingled  beauty  of  a  gentle  river,  a  rich  plain, 
and  a  bold  surrounding  of  pictures(|ue  heights. 

The  State  has  gathered  within  the  walls  of  the  go- 
vernment house  the  portraits  of  four  men  —  each  of 
whom  have  been  identified  with  the  struggle  of  our 
Nation  to  rescue  itself  from  the  dominion  of  the  sa- 
vage and  the  crown  —  and  each  of  whom  were  of 
those  who  drew  the  sword  only  for  their  country, 
and  of  whom  it  will  be  said  in  the  truth  of  history, 
that  they  labored,  and  suffered,  and  conquered,  not 
to  elevate  themselves,  but  to  give  to  the  people  a 
happy  and  a  free  home. 

The  men  to  whom  Kentucky  has  assigned  this  spe- 
cial honor,  are  Washington,  La  Fayette,  Boone,  and 
Harrison.  This  is,  indeed,  a  gallery  to  which  those 
who  seek  to  find  the  semblance  of  those  who  be- 
queathed to  their  country  the  fame  of  a  bravery  with- 
out a  fear,  and  an  integrity  without  a  reproach,  may 
resort,  and  be  grateful  that  it  is  in  the  history  of 
these  States  that  such  names  are  found. 

In  1845,  the  Legislature  of  Kentucky,  realizing  the 
vast  obligations  which  the  great  people  they  repre- 
sented were  under  to  Daniel  Boone,  who  had  taught 
the  world  the  way  to  their  glorious  land,  resolved  that 
they  would  place  the  remains  of  the  Pioneer  in  the 
public  cemetery,  at  Frankfort ;  so  that  none  could 

visit  those  living  men  to  whom  Kentucky  in  the  suo- 
Q  26 


SS6  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

cession  of  years  bestows  her  confidence,  without  be 
ing  near  the  grave  of  the  man,  of  all  others,  most 
prominent  in  tlie  foundation  of  the  State.  Mr.  Col- 
lins eloquently  says:  "There seemed  to  be  a  peculiar 
propriety  in  this  testimonial  of  the  veneration  borne 
by  the  commonwealth  for  the  memory  of  its  illustrious 
dead ;  and  it  was  fitting  that  the  soil  of  Kentucky 
should  afibrd  the  final  resting  place  for  his  remains, 
whose  blood  in  life  had  been  so  often  shed  to  protect 
it  from  the  fury  of  savage  hostility.  It  was  as  the 
beautiful  and  touching  manifestation  of  filial  affec 
tioii  shown  by  children  to  the  memory  of  a  beloved 
parent,  and  it  w^as  right  that  the  generation  who  were 
reaping  in  peace  the  fruits  of  his  toils  and  dangers, 
should  desire  to  have  in  their  midst,  and  decorate 
with  the  tokens  of  their  love,  the  sepulchre  of  this 
Primeval  Patriarch,  whose  stout  heart  watched  by 
the  eradle  of  this  now  powerful  commonwealth." 

The  family  having  consented,  proper  persons  were 
appointed  to  superintend  the  removal.  The  grave 
was  opened,  and  the  remains  brought  from  the  Mis- 
souri to  Frankfort. 

On  the  thirteenth  of  September,  1845,  the  ceremo- 
nies of  the  re-interment  took  place.  The  occasion 
aroused  the  deepest  feeling.  Dead  though  he  w^as,  it 
was  yet  Daniel  Boone  once  more  in  the  midst  of  Ken- 
tucky ;  and  those  whose  childhood  had  been  fauuliai 
with  the  deeds  of  his  strength  —  those  who  in  theii 


mS  REMAINS  REMOVED  TO  KENTUCKl       387 

own  kindred  Lad  known  his  conij)anions—  all  who 
knew  the  "  dark  and  bloody  "  history  of  Kentncky 
were  stirred  in  emotion.  The  man  who  walked  the 
forest  alone  —  the  only  civilized  man  in  all  the  vast 
area  —  w^ith  every  danger  that  could  appal  the  heart 
from  savage  nien  and  savage  beast  around  him,  in  all 
the  thought  that  silence  and  solitude  evoked,  never 
anticipated  the  hour  w^ien  a  proud  and  powerful  State 
would  thus  heap  honors  on  his  dust. 

The  pall-bearers  were  of  the  most  distinguished 
of  Kentuckians.  There  was  Col.  Richard  M.  John- 
son, to  whom  a  grateful  country  conferred  the  high 
honor  of  the  Yice-Presidency,  and  who  had  known 
the  fierceness  of  the  struggles  of  the  frontier,  and 
made  his  name  famous  by  his  participation  in  them  ; 
and  there  was  Gen.  James  Taylor,  who,  born  in  that 
memorable  year,  1769,  in  which  so  many  of  the  no- 
blest of  earth  first  saw  the  light,  had  seen  Kentucky 
emerge  from  the  condition  of  savage  life  to*all  its 
greatness,  and  who  knew  well  the  illustrious  career 
of  the  old  man,  by  the  side  of  whose  coffin  he  walked ; 
and  then  came  Capt.  James  Ward,  whose  encounters 
with  and  escapes  from  the  Indians  are  of  the  most  re- 
markable that  the  annals  of  Kentucky,  almost  every 
page  of  which  is  the  recital  of  boldness  and  bravery, 
furnish.  He  was  fittingly  chosen  to  follow  to  hia 
grave  the  defender  of  I'oonesbc  rough.  Gen.  Eobert 
B.  McAfee  was  another.     He  was  born  and  grew  up 


388  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

amidst  tlie  wild  alarms  of  Indian  warfiire,  and  in  th« 
military  and  civil  service  of  the  State  sustained  a  dis- 
tmguished  part.  Peter  Jordan,  of  Mercer ;  Walter 
Bullock,  of  Fayette ;  Thomas  Joyce,  of  Louisville ; 
Landon  Sneed,  of  Franklin  ;  Major  T.  Williams,  of 
Kenton  ;  William  Boone,  of  Shelby  ;  John  Johnston 
of  Ohio,  also  officiated  as  pall-bearers.  It  was  such 
a  gathering  of  brave  and  valuable  men,  as  indicated 
that  Kentucky  had  endeavored  to  render  all  possible 
honor  to  the  memory  of  her  founder. 

The  pageant  was  most  impressive.  The  gathering 
of  the  people  gave  a  vast  length  to  the  procession, 
and  in  its  midst  the  coffins  (for  Kentucky  did  not  sep- 
arate in  death  those  whom  peril  and  suffering  could  not 
dissever  in  life)  of  Daniel  Boone  and  his  faithful  wife, 
garlanded  in  flowers,  (the  only  phase  of  beauty  ap- 
propriate to  the  tomb,)  were  borne  to  their  last  abi- 
ding place  in  the  capital  of  Kentucky. 

This  great  State  chose  well  the  Orator.  It  haa 
vvritten  its  name  beneath  no  other  in  modern  States, 
in  the  volume  of  eloquence.  The  men  of  Kentucky 
have  been  welcomed  wherever  the  grandeur  and  mu- 
sic of  the  human  voice  has  found  admirers.  John  J 
Crittenden  is  the  son  of  an  officer  of  the  Revolution^ 
who,  when  he  had  faithfully  served  his  country  Ic 
that  struggle,  followed  in  tlie  path  of  Daniel  Boone 
and  emigrated  to  Kentucky,  and  reared  up  a  family 
distinguished  for  the  qualities  wliich  elicited  the  admi 


CONCLUSION.  38S 

ration  and  the  confidence  of  tlieir  fellow  men,  and 
each  of  whom  were  men  winning  and  deserving 
honor. 

The  name  of  John  J.  Crittenden  is  interwoven  with 
onr  history  as  a  nation,  and  the  records  of  statesmen 
and  orators  wonld  be  incomplete  without  it.  At  tlie 
date  of  which  this  volume  is  written,  he  has  been  five 
times  elected  to  the  Senate  of  the  United  States.  The 
highest  honors  of  his  own  State  have  been  bestowed 
upon  him,  and  when  the  conqueror  of  Buena  Yista 
assumed  the  first  ofiice  in  the  country,  he  chose  Mr 
Crittenden  as  his  most  intimate  counselor. 

To  such  a  man  Kentucky  committed  the  duty  of 
pronouncing  the  funeral  oration  over  the  grave  of 
Daniel  Boone.  A  nation  claimed  the  guardianship 
of  his  dust  —  brave  men  attended  him  to  his  tomb  — 
and  an  illustrious  orator  uttered  his  eulogy. 

Such  was  the  honor  Kentucky  poured  out  upon  the 
memory  of  her  pioneer.  His  were  the  services  to  the 
value  of  which  the  passing  years  bear  tribute,  andhig 
the  name  which  will  be  associated  with  her  existence. 

And  thus  Boone  passed  away.  A  quiet  and  an 
honorable  man — his  l)old  and  strong  course  has  made 
his  name  part  of  that  bright  record  to  which  our 
country  appeals,  when  older  lands  ask  for  her  heroes. 
The  West,  in  which  he  stood,  is  growing  with  more 
than  giant  strength  ;  the  visions  of  its  luxuriance  and 
of  its  wealth  that  his  f)rcst  dreams  formed,  are  made 


890 


LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 


realities  ;  tliere  is  an  em]^iro  where  he  walked  alone 
b'anious,  as   the   simple-hearted  hunter   never   inia 
gined,  this  great  Republic  knows  hiin  as  one  of  it£ 
Fathers,  while  throughout  the  Old  World  he  is  re- 
garded   (the   great   poet   moulded    the    thought)    aa 


having 


"  left  behind  a  m 


Simple,  serene,  the  antipodes  of  shame, 
Which  H«te  ov  Env}^  could  not  tinge  with  wrong.' 


Mi^'^>' 


THE  HUNTERS  OF  KEiNTUCKY. 


SIMON   KENTON. 

CUB  OF  THE  COMPANIONS  OF  BOONE—PLACE  OF  HIS  NATIVITY— HIS  BIRTl 
AND  PARENTAG^HE  FALLS  IN  LOVE-IS  AN  UNSUCCESSFUL  SUITOR-HIB 
RIVAL— AN  UNINVITED  GUEST  AT  THE  WEDDING— THE  CONFLICT-APPA- 
RENTLY  FATAL  RESULT-KENTON's  FLIGHT  TO  THE  UNEXPLORED  WEST- 
HI8  ASSUMED  NAME-SIMON  GIRTY— STRADER  AND  YEAGER— BORDER  EX- 
PLOITS-GEN. CLARKE'S  EXPEDITION— KENTON'S  DARING-CAPTURED  BY 
THE  INDIANS— THEIR  CRUELTIES— CONDEMNED  TO  TORTURE— 18  SAVED  BT 
GIRTY— VALUABLE  SERVICES  AS  A  SPY— JOY  AT  FINDING  HIS  EARLY  RIVAL 
STILL  LIVING— THEIR  SUBSEQUENT  FRIENDSHIP-KENTON's  BRAVE  DEEDS 
IN  THE  "  DARK  AND  BLOODY  GROUND  "—HIS  MISFORTUNES— HIS  LASl 
BATTLE-VISITS  FRANKFORT  IN  HIS  OLD  AGE-PUBLIO  HONORS  BESTOWED 
UPON  HIM HIS  DEATH. 

Although  to  Boone  a  true  history  must  accord  the 

tirst  rank  in  the  pioneers  of  Kentucky,  a  place  he  won 

by  the  might  of  good  judgment,  as  much  as  by  the 

strength  of  force,  yet  he  was  not  alone.  He  was  one,  the 

noblest  one,  of  a  company  of  men  wno,  fitted  to  the 

great  task  of  conquering  a  country,  went  forward,  not 

in  the  wild  excitement  of  a  great  army,  where  the  indi^ 

yidual  arm  is  made  strong  by  the  cheering  companion- 

Bhir  of  those  who  are  by  the  side  to  share  and  allevi- 

ate  the  sufi"ering— but  in  groups  of  a  number  so  small, 

tliat  strategy  and  consummate  skill  were  needed  in 

every  hour— sometimes  but  of  a  companion— somo 


.^92  SIMON   KENTON. 

times  alone.  Tliese  were  tlie  l)o](l  men  -^lio  fought^ 
endured,  struggled  on ;  won  the  fight,  grasped  the 
[•rize,  and  found  it  pass  from  their  scarred  hands,  to 
the  smootli  and  oily  clutch  of  thoBe  who  had  kept 
back  from  the  battle  to  share  in  the  spoil. 

Simon  Kenton  was  one  of  the  companions  of  Docne, 
and  was  true  to  his  leader,  even  to  the  days  of  trem- 
ulous old  age.  In  a  part  of  Virginia  to  this  day  one 
of  its  important  localities,  not  far  from  that  wild  gorge 
which  has  been  illuminated  to  history  by  the  master 
pen  of  Thomas  Jefferson — the  romantic  Harper's 
Ferry — and  nigher  still  to  that  Mount  Yernon,  which 
is  the  property  of  all  civilization,  Kenton  was  born. 
Fauqnier  connty  may  not  forget,  in  its  annals,  that  it 
had  the  parentage  of  one  who  revived,  in  modern 
days,  the  endurance  and  the  courage  of  the  fabled 
hero.  His  birth  day  was  the  15tli  of  May,  1755,  that 
memorable  year  when  one  of  the  great  cities  of  the 
Old  World  was  crushed  beneath  the  earthquake,  and 
made  the  memories  of  Lisbon  interwoven  with  horror. 
Kenton  had  good  parentage.  The  rapidity  of  the  Irish- 
man and  tlie  firmness  and  earnestness  of  the  Scotch 
woman,  mingled  in  him.  It  is  related  that,  irom 
their  poverty,  his  parents  could  afford  him  no  educa 
tion.  Those  who  know  how  faithfully  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  Scotland  cherish  learning,  will  readily 
conclude  tliat,  in  Kenton's  mother,  he  found  one  wlio 
did  not  neglect  to  impart  to  her  sou  instruction . 


HIS  FIRST  LOVE.  3? 

From  1762  to  1Y75,  was  a  period  in  which  the  col 
oaies  and,  among  thcni  all,  eminently  Virginia,  was 
preparing  to  enter  on  its  bokl  purpose  of  warfare  for 
freedom.  It  was  the  period  of  Kenton's  boyhood 
It  is  the  period  of  life  when  character  is  formed  by 
imitation,  when  to  all  that  is  about  them  the  young 
are  keenly  alive,  and  of  the  true  right  of  which, tliej 
judge  with  wonderful  accuracy.  Kenton,  a  bright 
and  bold  youth,  found  an  early  sorrow,  a  keen  and 
bitter  one,  and  one,  it  cannot  be  doubted,  in  which 
his  heart  quailed  far  more  than  it  did  in  after  years, 
in  the  terrible  circumstances  of  his  lot  as  a  captive. 
He  gave  to  a  young  girl  of  the  vicinage  the  ardor 
of  a  first  love ;  not  a  passing,  sickly  sentimentalism^ 
such  as  is,  in  our  day,  born  on  the  sunny  side  of 
Broadway,  but  a  strong,  earnest,  absorbing  passion. 
It  was,  to  him,  to  be  the  beginning  of  a  new  life. 
This  passage  in  Kenton's  life  has  been  often  men- 
tioned in  a  tone  of  trifling,  as  if  it  was  but  of  the 
thino^s  of  merriment.  It  shows  feeble  knowledtre  of 
the  human  heart.  Kenton  found,  to  his  young 
thoughts'  intense  bitterness,  that  he  had  a  rival,  and 
that  the  fairest  smile  of  the  girl  he  loved  was  given  to 
another.  Such  grief  has  made  wiser  men  mad.  The 
young  lady  may  have  learned,  even  in  that  far  olf  da/, 
and  that  rude  land,  the  lesson  of  coquetry.  It  is 
most  probable  that  she  encouraged  the  young,  bold, 
lianter  boy.     He  had  the  mould  of  a  man  about  him. 


394  SIMON   KENTON. 

aii-i  she  must  have  smiled  in  pleasure  at  receiving 
his  atfection ;  but  her  last  and  longest  liking  was  for 
Veach,  his  rival.  It  is  not  the  tirst  time  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world  that  woman  has  been  unable  to  dis- 
cern, in  the  boy,  the  future  rank  and  eminence  of  the 
man.     Mary  Chaworth  failed  to  see  the 

"  Napoleon  of  the  realms  of  rhyme/* 

in  young  Byron ;  the  old  washer-woman  in  Sweden 
lamented  for  many  a  long  year,  that  she  had  refused 
the  soldier  Bernadotte ;  and  there  is  a  greater  mar- 
vel afloat  in  history,  that  our  own  Washington  knew 
the  pangs  of  a  rejection.  Kenton  seemed  in  despair. 
He  even  went  unasked  to  the  wedding,  and  found  his 
loved  one  sitting  by  the  side  of  her  accepted.  He 
boldly  and  rashly  seated  himself  by  her  side — it  is 
said,  between  the  lovers.  It  was  the  signal  for  one 
of  those  scenes  of  violence,  so  often  marking  with 
alarm  and  blood  the  path  of  life  in  the  frontier  land. 
It  is  a  tribute  to  the  prowess  of  Kenton,  that  Veach 
called  in  the  assistance  of  his  brothers,  as  they  were  all 
at  the  wedding,  and  with  the  might  of  all  of  them,  our 
despairing  lover  found  injury  added  to  insult.  The 
bride  may  have  relished,  as  did  the  females  of  the 
chivalric  day,  this  fierce  tribute  to  her  charms,  and 
tliought  it  a  bright  beginning  to  her  married  life 
The  females  of  that  day  and  locality,  measured  th« 
devotion  of  men    by  a  rude  and   rough   standard, 


CONFLICT  WITH  HIS   RIVAL.  395 

Renton  retired,  deserted  in  love  and  beaten  in  bat- 
tle.    It  was  a  dark  day  for  the  boy. 

Some  time  afterward,  lie  met  Yeach  engaged  in 
carrying  shingles  near  his  house,  to  which,  with  his 
new  wife,  he  had  retired.  Kenton  immediately 
aroused  into  a  renewal  of  hostilities,  and  proposed  a 
combat.  They  had  the  manliness  to  seek  a  place  dis- 
tant from  the  house,  so  that  the  wife  might  not  wit- 
ness the  scene,  where  now  she  could  have  but  one  in- 
terest. Yeach  knew  that  he  had  conquered  once, 
and  being  of  the  border  men,  and  of  age  superior  to 
Kenton,  he  accepted  the  challenge.  They  reached 
their  battle  ground,  and  a  fight  ensued,  in  which,  at 
first,  Yeach  was  conqueror,  and  used  his  advantage 
with  vast  effect,  damaging  poor  Kenton  terribly,  and 
not  the  less  mentally,  as  he  reminded  him  of  his  con- 
quest over  him  in  love.  But  Kenton  had  already 
learned  the  lesson  of  the  word  endurance,  and  concen- 
trating his  purposes,  succeeded  in  forcing  Yeach  near 
a  stump.  Yeach,  in  this  respect,  if  in  no  other,  resem 
bled  the  cavaliers  of  his  gallant  state's  early  historj 
and  wore  long  hair.  It  was  a  sore  snare  to  him,  fo. 
Kenton  succeeded  in  winding  it  around  a  branch  of 
the  tree ;  and  holding  Yeach  at  this  disadvantage,  the 
scale  turned,  and  in  a  very  brief  period  Yeach  was 
Bo  utterly  disabled,  that  "  he  made  no  sign."  The 
thought  rushed  over  Kenton  tliat  he  had  killed  hia 
neighbor,  and,  in  horror,  he  spoke  to  him — spoke  iu 


596  *  SIMON    KENTON. 

words  of  earnest  Rympatliy.  Tlie  hleeTing.  wounded 
man  lay  silent  and  still,  and  the  boy  of  sixteen  felt 
the  terrible  chill  that  writes  murderer  on  the  heart. 
lie  had  but  brief  moment  to  deliberate,  and  in  that^ 
he  saw  the  danger,  and  fled.  There  was  a  cloud  over 
his  heart.  He  had  seen  the  girl  he  loved  with  a  sin- 
gle, impulsive  fervor,  given  into  another's  arms,  and 
he  was  a  murderer.  What  had  he  before  him  but 
flight  ?  and  in  despair,  he  left  the  home  of  his 
boyhood. 

To  wend  eastward  or  to  the  Potomac,  was  to  face 
the  executioner,  and  the  only  road  of  escape  was  to 
the  setting  sun.  The  wild  west  seemed  the  only  land 
that  spoke  of  refuge,  and  with  the  bound  of  a  deer, 
he  fled.  Urged  by  a  vivid  fear,  that  every  man  he 
saw  was  the  messenger  to  bring  him  back  to  justice,  he 
used  for  his  flight  only  the  hours  of  the  night,  anc' 
let  the  warm,  bright  sun,  that  shone  so  merrily  and 
gladly  over  gentle  heart  and  unstained  hand,  find  him 
only  in  concealment.  Nor  did  his  caution  cease  till 
he  found  the  abodes  of  man  growing  few,  and  the 
woods  close  in  around  him.  He  met  one — a  rover 
and  adventurer — in  whom  he  could  trust,  and  his 
companionship  was  welcome.  He  arrived  at  Ise's 
ford,  on  Cheat  river,  one  of  the  little  branches  of  the 
Monongahela.  He  assumed  the  name  of  Simon 
Butler,  dreading  lest  that  of  Kenton  should  only  bo 
a  passport  to  the  hands  of  the  law. 


THE  FLIGHT.  397 

Aud  now  Kenton,  or  Butler,  has  begun  the  life 
of  wild  adventure.  His  was  not  a  disposition  easily 
maddened,  and  it  was  only  strong  provocation  that 
aroused  the  revenger.  To  him,  believing  himself 
what  he  feared  the  woods  were  the  most  congenial 
home.  He  met  their  dangers  with  full  conscious- 
uess  that  the  wild  beast,  and  the  wilder  man,  would 
be  ever  found  in  his  trail. 

Tlie  absence  of  pursuit  lulled  the  fears  of  Kenton, 
and  he  commenced  to  look  around  him.     With  some 
companions  who  had  pushed  into  that  country,  he  pro- 
ceeded as  far  as  the  site  of  that  now  busy  city— Pitts- 
burgh—far  different,  then,  in  its  forest  scenery.     It 
was  while  he  lingered  at  Fort  Pitt,  that  he  found  out 
Simon  Girty,  a  name  infamous  in  the  annals  of  the 
west,  and  yet,  like  the  Corsair,  "linked  with  one  vir- 
tue," and,  it  is  sad  to  know,  equally,  with  the  "  thou- 
sand crimes."     To  Kenton,  subsequent  events  made 
this  acquaintance  of  inestimable  value.     Here,  too, 
he    enrolled    among   his   friends,  John  Strader  and 
George  Yeager.     He  talked  vsrith  these  men.     They 
had  legends  of  wood  craft  and  warfare  to  pour  into 
his  young  heart ;  and  when  they  declared  to  him  that 
the  Indians  had  pointed  out  to  Yeager  the  "  Kain- 
tnck-ee,"  he  became  as  eager  to  know  its  fertility  for 
himself,  as  the  most  adventurous  could  have  desired. 
And,  even  as  of  old,  Arcadia  was  sought,  so  did 
these  rovers  of  the  land  seek  the  cave  land,  but  they 


b  SIMON   KENTON. 

sought  iu  vain.  It  seemed  to  have  melted  from  th« 
earth  since  Yeager,  who  had  had  an  Indian  educa- 
tion, had  gazed  at  it.  They  persevered  — hunted  — 
traversed  the  Ohio  wearily — searched  the  land  about 
Big  and  Little  Sandy,  and  Salt  Lick,  and  Guyandotte. 
In  vain ;  the  "  cave  land,"  so  enthusiastically  por- 
trayed, as  all  and  more  than  all  that  fervid  hunter 
could  wish,  would  not  present  itself.  They  had  failed 
to  find  it  by  confining  their  search  to  the  river  side. 
But  all  this  made  Kenton  eminent  as  a  hunter  ;  and 
a  foray  by  the  Indians,  in  which  Yeager  was  killed, 
and  Strader  and  Kenton  escaped  most  narrowly,  ini- 
tiated him  into  the  ferocious  experiences  of  Indian 
war.  Their  escape  was  that  of  the  hunted  deer ; 
wandering,  famished  and  torn,  Kenton  must  have 
believed  that  the  fate  of  Cain  was  his.  In  the  soci- 
ety of  traders  whom  they  encountered,  they  slowly 
forgot  their  perils,  and  for  several  years  afterward, 
in  all  the  romance,  more  real  in  danger  than  fiction 
pictures  ;  in  perilous  service  as  a  spy,  for  which  hig 
acuteness  and  rapidity  qualified  him  so  well,  and  in 
which  he  rendered  essential  service  to  that  last  of  th 
colonial  noblesse.  Lord  Dunmore  ;  and  in  a  closer  and 
intense  acquaintance  with  the  new  land,  with  whose 
charms  as  a  hunting-ground,  and  a  home,  he  became 
more  enamored,  his  life  passed  on. 

Though  Yeager  was  gone,  the  stories  of  "Kain 
tuck-ee  "  Kenton  could  not  forget ;  and  in  1775,  as 


FITZPATRICK    AND    HENDRICKS. 

he  and  one  Williams  made  a  short  episo:le  from  their 
journey  down  the  Ohio,  he  recognized  that  Yeager 
had  told  only  truth.  This  was  the  beautiful  land ; 
and  in  May,  1775,  near  the  present  town  of  Wash 
ington,  in  Warren  county,  they  camped  and  cultiva 
ted  their  corn  ;  and  this  was  the  first  of  the  white 
man's  culture,  north  of  the  Kentucky  river. 

There  wandered  near  them  two  white  men  —  Fitz- 
patrick  and  Hendricks.  They  had  been  voyaging 
down  the  Ohio,  but  by  some  casualty  their  canoe 
failed  them,  and  their  joy  at  meeting  companions 
was  great.  It  was  unhappily  shortened.  Fitzpat- 
rick  did  not  allow  himself  to  test  the  pleasures  (> 
Kenton's  pioneer  home.  Like  a  wise,  if  not  a  bold 
man,  ho  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Virginia,  pre- 
ferring the  quiet  rest  of  the  Old  Dominion,  after  his 
experiences,  to  all  that  the  beauty  of  the  new  land 
could  furnish. 

Well  would  it  have  been  for  poor  Hendricks  if  he 
too  had  terminated  his  life  of  adventure.  He  went 
to  Kenton's  camp,  while  Kenton  and  Williams  gav« 
Fitzpatrick  their  society  to  the  river.  Their  manly 
feeling  soon  convinced  them  that  they  must  hasten 
back  to  protect  Hendricks.  The  rescue  came  too 
late.  They  found  his  bones  in  the  ashes.  The  hor- 
rible savage  had  surprised  him  alone ;  and  it  added 
to  the  anguish  that  Kenton  felt,  that  he  recollected 
having  seen  the  smoke  at  his  camp,  as  they  turned 


100  SIMON   KENTON. 

aside  in  the  woods,  believing  that  Hendricks  hao 
onlj  been  made  a  captive.  It  was  in  terror  like  thia 
that  Kentucky  laid  its  foundation.  If  ever  freedona 
should  be  cherished  with  intensity,  it  should  be  by  a 
state  where  the  hymn  of  its  youth  was  the  cry  of  an- 
guish. And  more  years  passed  on.  The  Indians, 
encouraged  by  the  counsel  and  alliance  of  Great 
Britain,  made  the  war  of  the  revolution  as  fearful  on 
the  frontier  as  it  was  gloomy  and  discouraging  on 
the  seaboard.  Kenton,  as  spy  and  ranger,  was  bold 
and  brave.  Now  he  was  in  his  young  prime,  and  a 
splendid  man  in  physical  beauty  was  he.  Tall,  even 
beyond  six  feet,  and  of  fine  person,  his  carriage  had 
the  Indian's  straightness.  Powerful,  and  of  a  weight 
just  proportionate  to  his  stature,  his  voice  was  gen- 
tle and  his  disposition  pleasant.  He  had  the  same 
simplicity  of  heart  as  had  Boone,  and  it  is  but  antici 
pating  the  history  to  say,  that  while  he  was  victor  in 
battle,  he  was  no  match  for  the  crafty. 

In  the  various  services  of  the  army,  and  in  the 
chase,  his  life  passed  on.  In  another  division  of  this 
volume  is  narrated  the  history  of  his  good  service  to 
Boone,  in  and  around  Boonesborough  and  its  scenes 
of  strife.  When  chosen  spies  were  to  be  appointed, 
for  whose  payment  Yirginia's  faith  was  pledged,  even 
as  Washington  selected  "  Harvey  Birch  " — the  name 
that  Cooper  has  made  more  famous  than  the  real  one, 
Enoch  Crosby  —  so  did  Boone  select  Kenton-  and 


GLAHKES   EXl'EDITION.  40 "j 

wiien,  in  a  foray  near  the  gates  of  the  fort,  Kenton, 
with  distinguished  valor,  dashed  through  the  foe,  and 
bore  the  company  safely  in,  the  taciturnity  of  Boone 
did  not  prevent  him  from  quietly  saying,  "  Well,  Si- 
mon, you  have  behaved  yourself  like  a  man  to-day  ; 
indeed,  you  are  a  line  fellow."  Curiously  enough, 
this  is  one  of  the  few  instances  in  which  Kenton  did 
not  take  the  scalp,  so  fatally  had  the  cruel  peculiarity 
of  the  Indian's  bloody  warfare  incorporated  itself 
even  with  the  white  man's  blow. 

When  that  master  mind  of  the  west.  Gen.  George 
Rogers  Clarke,  organized  his  expedition  against  Kas- 
kaskia,  it  seemed  a  campaign  so  dangerous  and  so 
far,  and  there  was  so  earnest  appeal  by  the  females 
at  the  stations,*that  the  brave  settlers  deemed  it  their 
duty  to  remain  by  those  to  whom  it  was,  unquestion 
ably,  their  first  duty  to  give  protection.     But  Kenton 
and  one  other,  whose  name  Reserves  record — Haggin 
— ^in  despite  of  all  the  pleading  voices  of  wife  and  sis- 
ter and  mother,  followed  the  general ;  and  it  is  proof 
that  his  Scotch-born  mother  must  have  imparted  ed 
ucation  to  him,  that  he  sent  to  General  Clarke  a  com 
plete  and  faithful  account  of  Yincennes,  acquired  in 
the  close  observation  of  three  days.     Perhaps  it  waa 
through  this  information,  that  the  place  was   after 
ward  taken. 

Poor  Kenton  now  found  his  misfoi'tunes  assuming  a 

deeper  shadow.     By  a  daring  utterly  misdirected,  he 

26 


1:02  SIMON  KENTCN. 

made  a  foraj  worthy  of  the  boldest  days  of  the  bor 
der  times,  upon  the  horses  at  Chillicothe,  a  place 
where  old  Bhickfishj  who  had  adopted  Boone,  had 
his  attention  too  fully  alive  to  the  value  of  the  ani- 
mals to  a^ow  such  a  plunder  to  be  unnoticed.  They 
caught  and  haltered  seven.  Seven  was  a  noble  prize, 
and  Kenton's  name  was  up,  if  the  capture  could  be 
successful.  They  rode  and  they  ran,  and  the  mad 
Indians  after  them,  but  Kenton  reached  the  Ohio. 
He  could  cross  that  "  dark  and  stormy  water,"  as  it 
then  was,  but  his  horses  could  not,  and  he  madly  lost 
time  rather  than  lose  his  horses.  Of  course,  this  intense 
folly  wrecked  him.  Even  if  he  had  been  contented 
in  making  off  with  one  horse,  he  might  have  escaped , 
but  he  was  in  for  a  desperate  game,  and  not  a  horse 
would  he  release.  The  Indian  captured  him  like  a 
caged  wolf;  and  the  Indian  took  full  revenge.  The 
savage  considered  this  attempt  to  take  his  horses  of 
the  first  class  of  felony.  Whipped,  beaten,  trampled 
upon  with  all  the  fierceness  that  their  demon-like 
cruelty  could  urge,  they  bound  him  to  the  earth  with 
thongs  and  stakes,  around,  across,  by  leg  and  arm 
and  neck,  in  manner  from  which  the  devils  of  the  In- 
quisition could  learn  new  lessons.  He  was  treated 
ae  Mazeppa  was,  and  at  every  village  the  savage 
heaped  new  insult,  and  inflicted  additional  blows. 
That  "  venerable  father,"  Capt.  Blackfish,  inc|Tiired 
if  Capt.    Boone  had  told   him   to  steal   the  horses. 


IS  SAVED  BY  GIRTY.  403 

Kenton,  with   manly   boldness,   declared   he   did  it 
of  his  own  free  will. 

He  ran  the  gauntlet,  the  knife,  the  club,  the  whip 
all  ready  to  murder,  but  by  wonderful  adroitness  e& 
caped  this,  his  race  for  life,  never  perhaps  equaled 
in  sagacious  avoidance ;  and  then  the  brutes,  that 
authors  have  delineated  as  the  "  noble  savage,"  held 
grave  council  as  to  the  stake,  and  the  heavy  war-club 
came  violently  to  the  ground,  or  was  passed  in  si- 
lence, as  their  decision  was  to  save  or  destroy.  He 
was  reprieved,  but  only  to  be  tortured  by  the  gaunt- 
let, at  successive  intervals,  till  a  final  council  was 
held,  when  the  decision  was  against  him,  till  the 
same  wretched  Girty,  whose  name  is  yet  so  odious 
for  his  renegade  cruelties,  entering  the  council,  learned^ 
bis  name,  recognized  him  as  having  been  in  service 
with  him  under  Dunmore,  and,  by  the  utmost  effort, 
for  the  time  saved  him  —  saved  him  when  all  hope 
was  gone,  and  when  a  fierce  death  was  before  him. 
One  of  the  strongest  reasons  urged  by  the  chiefs 
against  gra-nting  mercy,  McClung  says,  was  that 
"  many  of  their  people  had  come  from  a  distance, 
Bolely  to  assist  at  the  torture  of  the  prisoner ;  and 
they  pathetically  painted  the  disappointment  and 
chagrin  with  which  they  would  hear  that  all  their 
trouble  had  been  for  nothing." 

For  the  time,  Girty  prevailed ;    but  the  Indian's 
tiate  rose  fierce  again,  and  he  was  condemned  once 


i04  SIMON  KENTON. 

more,  and  actually  only  saved  from  death  by  tlie  nn 
timely  cruelty  of  an  Indian,  wlio  rushed  upon  him  with 
an  ax,  cutting  through  his  shoulder.  Even  Logan,  the 
famous  Logan,  whose  eloquence  Jefferson  has  made 
memorable,  proved  unavailing,  and  it  was  to  an  En- 
glishman, named  Drewyer,  that  he  owed  his  deliver 
ance.  He  was  taken  to  Detroit,  as  Boone  had  been, 
but,  more  fortunate  than  the  Pioneer,  was  allowed  to 
remain.  From  Detroit  he  escaped,  through  the  kind- 
ness of  Mrs.  Harvey,  who  balanced  the  account  for 
the  sex  with  Kenton,  his  misfortunes  having  be- 
gun with  them.  The  complete  narration  of  this 
incident  may  be  found  in  the  life  of  Boone,  in  this 
volume. 

Kenton  joyfully  took  part  with  General  Clarke. 
Recognized  as  the  Great  Spy,  he,  in  defiance  of  all 
his  dangers  and  sufferings,  was  with  the  army,  fore- 
most in  the  fight  everywhere.  In  1782,  a  tremen- 
dous load  was  lifted  from  his  heart,  for  he  learned 
that  Veach  lived,  and  that  he  was  not  a  murderer. 
His  joy  was  excessive.  He  dropped  his  name  of 
Butler,  and  became  again  Simon  Kenton ;  and  it  is 
bright  to  record  here,  that  subsequently,  he  and  the 
man  for  whose  imagined  death  he  had  done  such  ter- 
rible penance,  and  the  fair  lady  herself,  met,  and  old 
feuds  were  forgotten  and  new  friendships  formed. 

And,  in  a  bold  career,  Kenton  went  through  the 
war.     He  led  the  attack,  and  when  others  quailed. 


HIS  LAST  BATTLE.  405 

he  went  forward.  He  lield  his  station  tiL  the  pi 
oneers  so  rallied  around  it  as  to  bid  deiiance  to  the 
savage.  And  the  Indian  light  went  out  in  "  the 
Dark  and  Bloody  Ground."  The  chiefs  that  would 
have  restrained  their  countrymen  from  the  deeds  of 
horror,  which  so  accelerated  their  annihilation,  and 
those  who  were  the  first  to  counsel  them,  all  went 
down  before  the  superior  strategy  and  steel  of  the 
white  man.  Kentucky  rose  to  dignity  as  a  state. 
Mad  Anthony  Wayne  crushed  out  the  last  spasm  of 
Indian  resistance,  and  Kenton  was  of  his  volunteers 
It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  relate  in  his  case,  as  in 
that  of  Boone,  that  when  peace  came,  the  speculator 
robbed  Kenton  of  his  land.  Mr.  Collins  relates  that 
he  was  actually  made  a  prisoner  for  debt,  on  the  spot 
where  he  had  reared  the  first  cabin  in  northern  Ken- 
tucky, and  he  was  obliged  to  move  into  Ohio.  Can 
it  be  possible  that  such  a  page  is  to  be  found  in  the 
annals  of  Kentucky ! 

He  fought  but  once  more.  It  was  at  the  Thames, 
when  Harrison  and  Shelby  wore  the  honors  of  the 
country. 

One  bright  day  dawned  on  him,  wlien  lie  came  to 
Frankfort,  in  1824,  at  seventy  years  of  age --a  poor, 
old  wanderer,  and  was  recognized,  and  received  the 
honors  of  a  public  reception.  He  essayed  to  join  in 
the  pledged  gathering,  at  Cincinnatti,  of  the  fifty- 
fear  survivors  of  ISTovember  4.  1782,  but  tlie  infirmi 


^06 


SBION  KENTON. 


fie?  of  age  prevented  his  joining  the  few  who  were 
Qot  deterred  by  the  pestilence  of  1832. 

Poor,  simple-hearted,  the  old  man  died  in  the  com 
forts  of  a  religious  liope,  at  the  age  of  eighty-one^ 
leaving  a  memory  of  calm  faith,  and  his  quiet  seemed 
the  fuliillment  of  the  mandate,  "  Peace — he  still,''  to 
the  tossing  sea.  He  had  quivered  before  the  stake, 
and  endured  the  gauntlet,  and  suffered  all  the  hor- 
rors of  a  border  desolation  and  captivity,  and  yet 
lived  until  there  was  an  empire  aronnd  him,  and  the 
voice  of  gentle  friendship  his  soothing  farewell  to 
life.  Kentucky  may  place  his  name  high  among  her 
braves,  and  redeem,  by  kindness  to  the  aged  and 
poor  in  her  borders,  the  sad  wrong  which  these  pi- 
oneers bore. 


JO  DAVIESS 

■18  PARENTAGE-  -T/ME  AND  PLACE  OF  HIS  BIRTH  •  -R   ^^OVAL  OF  HIS  PARENTI 

TO  KENTOOKT— HIS    EDUCATION EARLY    PROMISE DAVIESS  VOLUNTEERJ 

CTNDER  GEN.   ADAIR BATTLE  AT  FORT    At.  CLAIR RETREAT  OF  THE  SET- 
TLERS  CAPTURE  OF  HORSES    BY    THE    SAVAGES DAVIESS    DETERMINES  TO 

EETAKE  HIS  OWN  STEED DESPERATE  CHARACTER  OF  THE  UNDERTAKING 

HIS    MARVELLOUS    ESCAPE HIS    SUCCESS HE    STUDIES    LAW SUCCESS    IN 

HIS  PROFESSION HIS  MARRIAGE GEN.   HARRISOn's  CAMPAIGN    AGAINST 

THE  INDIANS DAVIESS  A  VOLUNTEER,   WITH  RANK    OF  MAJOR BATTLE  OF 

TIPPECANOE DAVIESS  IS  SLAIN. 

Such  was  the  familiar  manner  in  wbicli  the  bold 
and  brave  soldier,  the  eloquent  orator,  the  skillful 
advocate,  was  named,  as  the  story  of  his  courage  and 
the  power  of  his  mind  was  the  theme  of  the  settlers' 
converse.  His  history  has  not  all  the  wild  thrill  of 
constant  peril  in  predatory  warfare,  in  siege  or  storm, 
but  it  has  such  a  blended  thread  of  the  court  and 
camp  about  it,  the  wand  of  the  advocate,  and  the 
sword  of  the  soldier,  that  it  will  always  constitute  a 
graphic  chapter  in  the  wonderful  history  of  Kentucky. 

Joseph  Hamilton  Daviess,  like  Kenton,  had  in  hia 
veins  the  mingled  blood  of  the  Irish  and  Scotch,  and 
ttie  character  he  produced,  developed  well  his  pa- 
rentage. But  the  characteristics  of  the  old  countries 
had  received  their  impress  of  the  New  World,  as,  al- 
though his  parents  were  of  the  lineage  named,  them 
selves  were  born  in  Virginia. 


4:08  JO  DAVIESS. 

In  Bedford  count j,  near  the  heart  of  the  Ancient 
Dominion,  beneath  the  peaks  of  Otter,  Daviess  waa 
born,  on  the  4th  of  March,  1TT4 —  two  years  before 
the  birth  of  the  republic,  of  which  he  was  such  an 
ornament.  If  Virginia  should  build,  as  the  Euro 
pean  monarch  has,  upon  the  banks  of  one  of  its  riv- 
ers, a  temple  for  the  statues  of  its  illustrious  sons,  the 
line  would  be  so  long,  and  the  group  so  great,  that 
otlier  republics  might  well  envy  her  the  treasure. 

It  was  when  infancy  was  just  melting  into  child- 
hood, at  five  years  of  age,  that  the  parents  of  Daviess 
removed  to  Kentucky,  then  the  wilderness  portion 
of  their  state.  It  was  heroic  to  dare  the  perils  of  tlie 
forest.  It  was  that  conquering  courage  which  went 
out  to  subdue  the  land,  and  by  which,  long  before 
their  natural  grow^th,  these  forest  communities  be- 
came independent  and  powerful  states.  When  they 
reached  the  end  of  their  long  and  perilous  journey, 
they  fixed  their  home  in  the  vicinity  of  the  battle 
fields  of  Harrodsburgh  and  Boonesborough.  It  waa 
in  such  scenes  that  the  gallant  orator  was  to  receive 
his  mould,  and  out  of  such  an  ordeal,  mind  could  no- 
pale  away  into  mediocrity. 

The  Caledonian  mother  on  this  journey  evinced 
her  resolution,  and  gave  evidence  that  her  child 
would  inherit  qualities  that  would  be  of  energy  in 
winning  way  through  the  crowd  in  mankind's  pur- 
Buits.     On  their  wihlerness  road,  by  a  fall  from  liei 


HIS  EDUCATION-.  409 

horse,  lier  arm  was  hrolcen.  There  was  small  skill 
in  surgery  there,  and  the  road  was  no  conch  of  ease 
and  rest  to  tlie  sniferer.  To  tlie  female  in  this  day 
it  wonld  be  deemed  scarcely  sliort  of  barbarity,  to 
press  on  in  snch  an  honr  of  suffering.  "  Jean  Da- 
vies  "  was  of  no  yielding  class.  Even  with  but  the 
Imperfect  bandages  of  the  hour,  she  remounted  her 
horse,  and  clinging  closer  to  her  darling  boy,  urged 
onward,  and  had  kind  word  and  pleasant  smile  to 
cheer  the  party.  The  exertions  of  this  mother  pro- 
cured for  Daviess  an  education.  She  knew  what 
weapon  it  would  be  with  wliich  to  determine  the 
step  of  fortune.  Her  care  was  well  rewarded.  Even 
at  the  stormy  day  of  the  revolution,  the  settlers  had 
in  some  localities  succeeded  in  inducing  the  presence 
of  scholars,  by  whose  tuition  the  classics  revealed 
their  strength  to  the  wilderness.  From  a  Mr.  Wooley, 
and  from  Drs.  Brooks  and  Culbertson,  he  learned 
the  Latin  and  the  Greek.  It  was  the  subject  of  re- 
mark in  his  school,  that  his  declamation  and  public 
speaking  was  that  of  the  young  orator.  Thus  he 
studied  and  improved  till  calamity  checked  his  plans. 
A  sister  and  a  brother  passed  away,  and  he  who  had 
been  devoted  to  his  studies,  found  the  very  practical 
duty  of  the  farm  calling  for  his  attention.  His  was 
not  a  disposition,  however,  to  be  quietly  merged  into 
a  farmer's  life.  The  day  was  favorable  to  bolder  des 
feinies.  ji 


if^  JO  DAVTE88. 

Gen.  John  Adair  was  early  trained  to  war.  He 
had  learned  in  the  crnelties  of  an  imprisonment  du- 
ring the  revolution,  what  war  really  was.  Migrating 
from  Soutli  Carolina,  he  joined  the  bold  and  adven- 
turous in  Kentucky,  and  in  the  bloody  border  war 
took  active  part.  On  the  6th  of  November,  1792^ 
he  organized  a  company  of  volunteers  to  guard  the 
transportation  of  supplies  to  the  forts  north  of  the 
Ohio  river.  Contiguous  to  Fort  St.  Clair  his  troops 
were  attacked  by  the  Indians  with  terrible  force,  and 
here  young  Daviess,  who  had  dashed  away  from  the 
plow  to  volunteer  for  the  stirring  strife,  took  his  in- 
itiation into  the  battle  field — a  field  the  terrible  har- 
vest of  which  it  was  his  destiny  afterward  to  reap. 

This  was  a  memorable  battle.  The  Indians  were 
led  by  Little  Turtle,  who  evinced  the  sagacity  of  a 
disciplined  soldier.  The  savages  made  the  attack  so 
suddenly  that  they  instantly  perceived  that  they  had 
gained  an  advantage,  and  this  was  everything  to  the 
red  man.  If  he  began  well,  he  went  through  the 
fight  with  desperation,  but  a  vigorous  defense  caused 
him  to  quail.  Major  Adair  directed  his  plan  of  bat- 
tle skillfully,  directing  Madison,  afterward  governor 
of  Virginia,  to  attack  the  right,  and  Lieut.  Hall  the 
left ;  bit  the  enemy  had  already  killed  Hall,  and  it 
became  necessary  for  Adair  to  lead  the  assault. 
He  did  so  boldly,  and  the  Indians  fell  back  ;  but 
learning  tactics  in  their  flush  of  success,  Little  Turtle 


DESPERATE  ADVENTURE.  411 

Bont  sixty  of  his  warriors  to  turn  tlie  riglif  of  the 
troops.  There  was  but  one  thing  left  for  the  regu 
lars.  It  was  unusual  in  the  annals  of  Kentucky  to 
sound  a  retreat,  but  it  had  to  come,  and  in  the  best 
order  available  ;  the  retreat  was  made,  and  they  fell 
back  on  their  camp.  The  Indians  in  all  their  fury 
i-ushed  after  them,  knowing  as  their  leader  did,  their 
power  in  one  fierce  charge,  but  Adair  rallied,  and 
drove  them  back. 

Here  an  officer  figured,  to  whose  counsels  and  ex- 
periences, and  many  of  them,  it  may  be,  founded  on 
this  battle,  the  world  owes  one  of  its  greatest  of  mod 
ern  military  commanders.  It  was  the  father  of  "  Old 
2ach" — Col.  Kichard  Taylor,  who  was  prominent  in 
this  struggle.  At  that  time  the  future  hero  of  Buena 
Vista  was  eight  years  of  age,  and  it  is  easy  to  im- 
ao-ine  with  what  intense  interest  the  fireside  stories 
of  his  gallant  father  were  heard  by  the  boy. 

The  Indians  had  taken  good  spoil  of  the  horses  of 
the  troops,  and  among  them  the  horse  of  young  Da- 
viess. He  was  resolved  ^o  win  this  back.  If  the  In- 
dians could  take  to  their  camp  that  fine  body  of 
horse,  two  hundred  strong,  Jo  was  determined  that 
his  should  not  be  among  the  number.  So  he  dared 
the  dashing  exploit,  and  sprang  onward  for  his  ani- 
mal. The  balls  whistled  past  his  ears  till  he  realized 
that  branch  of  music  to  his  heart's  content.  They 
went  through  coat,  vest,  and   shirt,  but  he   won  his 


il2  JO  DA\  lESS. 

przfc.  He  regained  the  fort  in  safety,  his  horse,  the 
only  one  out  of  two  hundred,  rescue  i.  The  balla 
knew  him  then,  fts  Desaix  once  said. 

From  tliis  association  of  brave  men,  and  these 
eventful  passages,  Daviess,  when  his  term  of  service 
was  over,  went  to  the  profession  of  the  law.  It  w? 
the  exchange  of  the  conflict  of  arms  for  that  of  intel- 
lects. He  chose  one  of  the  best  jurists  in  the  state 
as  his  teacher — George  l^icholas,  a  name  familiar  to 
our  day,  as  of  the  really  illustrious  of  Virginia— and 
there  grouped  in  that  office  a  galaxy  of  the  distin 
guished.  Even  in  these  times,  the  names  of  Felix 
Grundy,  the  celebrated  senator  from  Tennessee — of 
Garrard — of  Bledsoe — of  Talbot,  and  John  Pope, 
are  recognized  in  their  eminence.  Such  was  the  as- 
sociation of  Jo  Daviess.  No  wonder  that  his  intel- 
lect, under  such  rivaling,  sprang  into  life  with  all 
its  powers.  This  soldier  boy,  who  had  already,  when 
but  eighteen,  been  of  the  gallant  band  of  braves  who 
stood  by  Adair,  and  who  had  thus  been  enrolled  in 
the  warrior's  race,  devoted  himself  to  study,  severely. 
He  took  no  rest  until  he  had  achieved  a  fitness  for 
the  exalted  duties  to  which  he  felt  that  his  destiny 
led  him. 

And  the  effect  of  it  was  apparent.  When  the  set- 
tlers knew  that  the  daring  soldier — the  lad  who  had 
"  3ome  in  "  while  the  country  was  yet  a  wilderness — 
WSLS  ready  to  plead  their  cause,  with  the  erudition  of  a 


HIS  MAKKIAGE.  4:13 

icliolar,  and  the  persuasion  of  an  orator,  tliey  sought 
him,  and  l*e  commenced  practice  with  the  finest 
prospects.  In  tlie  year  ISOl,  he  aj^peared  in  the 
federal  capitol,  before  that  tribunal  which,  i.i  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  party  and  of  oj^inion,  ha^  remained 
foremost  in  the  confidence  and  honor  of  the  pepplo 
of  the  United  States — their  supreme  court.  He  was 
the  first  advocate  that  had  stood  there  from  "the 
west" — that  land  which,  since  then,  has  so  often  il- 
histrated  the  great  name  and  fame  of  that  arena. 
He  vindicated  his  na^^ae,  and  yet  he  was  but  eight- 
and-twenty  years  of  age.  Such  an  effort  has  seldom 
been  made  by  one  so  young  in  legal  training.  It  is 
good  proof  of  his  success  that  he  married,  in  i803, 
Anne  Marshall,  the  sister  of  that  John  Marshall,  whose 
career  is  among  our  national  treasures.  The  good 
opinion  gained  before  the  chief-justice  was  easily 
transmuted  into  the  afifection  of  the  fair  sister. 

When  that  great  man  —  but  bad  as  great  —  Aaron 
Burr,  dissatisfied  with  the  success  of  the  republic, 
sought  to  build  up,  in  bold  ambition,  his  scheme  of 
western  conquest,  the  government  determined  to  hold 
him  to  the  charge  of  treason,  and  Daviess  was  se- 
lected as  the  prosecuting  counsel ;  but  the  gloss  of 
other  designs  had  been  too  successfully  thrcwn  ovei 
it,  by  this  extraordinary  maneuverer,  and  the  prusacu- 
iion  was  not  pursued. 

And  8C  this  pioneer  of  Kentucky  in  the   noblest 


4:14  JO  DAVIESS. 

sense  —  he  who  led  the  way  in  the  pursuits  of  Intel 
lectual  vigor  —  who  taught  the  republic  that  some 
thing  more  enduring  than  valor  and  courage  in  the 
ficcht  was  in  that  noble  but  troubled  land — so  he 
'moved  on,  in  manner  of  great  dignity  ;  in  oratory 
wortliy  the  country  of  Breckenridge,  and  Menifee, 
and  Morehead,  and  Crittenden,  and  Clay. 

We  know  not,  in  our  day  —  nor  is  it  probable  we 
ever  shall,  as  the  Old  World  seems  to  be  furnishing 
abundant  occupation  for  itself  —  the  trials  of  our  fa- 
thers in  the  conflict  with  the  Indians,  stirred  up  to 
all  ferocity,  and  stimulated  by  abundant  resources, 
from  the  intrigues  of  a  foreign  power.  These  troub- 
les were  the  prelude  to  the  war  of  1812  ;  and  the  In- 
dian that  had  seemed  crushed  by  the  successive  vic- 
tories of  the  past,  woke  up  into  all  the  ancient  bitter- 
ness. It  was  intensely  true,  that  "  in  their  ashes 
lived  their  wonted  fires."  And  who  can  ever  forget, 
that  has  given  thought  to  the  history  of  his  country, 
that  wonderful  battle  of  Tippecanoe,  so  interwoven 
in  the  record  of  bravery.  When  a  distinguished 
general,  himself  a  father  of  the  west,  approached  the 
hostile  tribes  on  the  Wabash,  he  was  met  by  the 
principal  chiefs.  It  was  near  the  town  of  the 
Prophet,  that  savage  who  was  so  fondly  deemed  to 
have  stretched  his  power  beyond  the  world  of  the 
visible.  TJiere  was  speciousness  in  the  offer  of  the 
Indian  warriors.     Th.y  wanted  theii'  warrior  brother 


, DAVIESS  A  \OLUNTEER.  415 

ko  rest — not  to  press  forward  till  there  was  time  for  a 
conference  —  and  counseled  him  to  an  encampment. 
Such  professions  came  to  an  ear  accustomed  to  the 
wiles  of  the  strategy  of  the  men  of  the  forest.  The 
march  was  stayed,  and  the  encampment  ordered,  but 
Harrison  directed  his  troops  to  sleep  on  their  arms, 
in  order  of  battle. 

Among  those  who  were  with  the  gallant  general 
on  that  eventful  night,  was  the  eloquent  and  brave 
Kentuckian,  who  is  the  subject  of  this  sketch.  It 
would  have  been  strange,  indeed,  if  some  distin- 
guished son  of  Kentucky  had  not  been  there.  Jo 
Daviess,  as  the  trials  of  his  country  gathered  darker, 
saw  with  sagacious  foresight  the  coming  war,  and 
the  soldier  triumphed  over  the  advocate.  He  left 
the  ranks  of  the  bar  and  the  forum,  where  all  eyes 
were  turned  toward  him,  and  men  traveled  weary 
distances  to  hear  his  voice,  to  enter  into  Harrison's 
army  —  a  volunteer — a  representative  of  the  pioneers 
of  Kentucky.  He  received  the  command  of  major, 
and  became  at  once  of  eminent  service  to  Genera^i 
Harrison. 

The  morning  proved  that  the  caution  of  the  gen- 
eral had  been  wisely  exercised.  At  the  hour  before 
the  dawn,  was  the  Indian's  favorire  time  of  attack. 
Aurora  was  to  them  the  battle  deity.  The  yell  of  a 
furious  charge  was  heard,  and  such  a  bloody  battle 
t)roke  fort?i,  as  lives  in  the  memory  of  the  western 

\ 


rfO  L»  W  lEt 


itates  till  tins  hour.  Daviess  rushed  into  the  fight, 
and  his  bokl  voice  and  commanding  person  ^ave  him 
noble  preeminence.  He  counseled  and  solicited  to 
Biiare  in  a  charge  made  soon  after  the  liglit  commenced. 
The  bullets  that  had  whistled  harmlessly  by  him  at 
Fort  St.  Clair,  had  more  fatal  mission  now,  and  he 
fell ;  and  seldom,  if  ever,  h'-'S  Indian  blow  fallen 
more  severely  on  the  countrf  Kentucky  mourned 
her  dead  rn  that  battle  fie  ^  but  the  brave,  the 
manly,  the  chivabic,  the  eh^quent  Daviess  most  of 
all.  It  was  a  loss  the  whole  state  felt ;  it  thrilled 
the  ear  everywhere.  And  deeply  was  he  mourned, 
and  even  to  this  hour  the  memory  of  Jo  Daviess  i8 
in  Kentucky's  heart.  He  was  of  her  noblest  and  her 
bravest 

The  great  mineral  city  of  Illinois,  Galena,  makes 
monument  to  his  name,  by  the  designation  of  the 
county  in  which  it  is  situate.  It  did  nor  need  this  to 
perpetuate  his  fame.  He  belonged  to  that  age  of 
Kentucky,  when  the  sword  of  the  soldier  stood  bv  tlie 
side  of  the  plow  and  the  pen,  for  hers  was  a  land  of 
conflict 


BLAND   BALLARD. 

gia  aSMOT4L    TO  KENTUCKY IS    KNGAGED    IN    THE  EARLY    CONFLICTS    WITH 

THB     INDIANS TBE      DISASTROUS     AFFAIR     AT     CHILLICOTEE BA  LLARl 

WOUNDED,   BUT    NOT    DISHEARTENED JOINS  GENERAL  CLARKe's  COMMAND 

HIS  SERVICES     AS  A  SPY IS  SURPRISED  AND    CAPTURED TAKEN   DOWN 

THE  OHIO A  DAY  OF  MERRIMENT  AMONG  THE  RED  MEN THE  HORSE  RACK 

AND  THE  FOOT  RACE EXCITEMENT    AMONG  THE   INDIANS CARELESSNESS 

OF    THE    GUARD BALLARD    SEIZES    A    NOBLE    STEED,    AND    ESCAPES TUB 

RACE    FOR  LIFE THE    INEFFECTUAL    PURSUIT EXPLOIT    ON  THE  OHIO A 

NOVEL    REWARD A    DREADFUL   TRAGEDY SINGLE    HANDED    COMBATS 

Ballard's  prowess — battle  of  the  river  raisin — is  taken  prisoneb 

CONFINED    AT  FORT  GEORGE LIVES   TO    SEE    THE    PROSPERITY    OF   HIS 

ADOPTED  STATE. 

Captain  Ballard  was  in  vigorous  boyhood  when 
the  revohition  commenced,  and  thus  had  a  reliable 
and  intelligent  knowledge  of  the  circumstances  attend 
ing  the  coming  of  Kentucky  into  existence,  which, 
it  is  most  gratifying  to  record,  was,  in  an  old  age  ex- 
tending to  these  times,  by  actual  intercourse  with  the 
men  of  ^his  generation,  made  available  to  the  fidelity 
of  history.  He  was  eighteen  years  of  age  when  he 
came  to  Kentucky.  It  was  in  1779 — a  year  in  which 
the  now  flourishing  and  important  city  of  Lexington, 
always  hereafter  classic  from  its  association  with  the 
home  01  Henry  Clay,  was  inaugurated  by  a  solitary 
block  house,   built   by   Robert  Patterson — the   first 

step  of  the  coming^dominion  of  the  white  man — and 
27  R* 


ilS  BLAND    BALLAKD. 

when  that  nucleus  of  sorrow  to  the  pioneers,  the  land 
hiw  of  Kentucky  county  !  was  in  such  excess  of  wis- 
dom enacted  by  the  eminent  legislature  of  Virginia. 
It  was  also  the  year  when  an  attempt  was  made  to 
dislod"-e  the  Ii  dian  for?e  at  Chillicothe.  So  Ballard 
found  the  times  of  his  coming,  those  when  the 
strong  arm  and  tlie  quick  thought  were  of  value,  and 
he  was  soon  in  the  light.  In  those  days,  between 
the  attacks  of  the  British  and  the  Indians,  the  set- 
tlers must  have  led  a  charmed  life  to  have  escaped 
the  battle  field.  The  sound  of  the  rifle  was  in  the 
air,  and  there  could  be  neither  inaction  nor  neutrality 
The  Chillicothe  fight  was  a  sad  disaster.  It  was 
one  of  those  instances  in  which  the  extraordinary 
misconduct  of  a  leader  paralyzes  an  army.  Lo- 
gan fought  bravely ;  but  Bowman,  who  was  in  com- 
mand, seemed  without  consciousness  of  his  trust, 
and  the  bravest  chapter  in  the  fight,  was  the  gallant 
retreat.  Ballard  was  not  disheartened.  Though  se- 
verely wounded  while  under  the  command  of  Gen- 
eral George  Rogers  Clarke,  whose  name  appears  ev- 
erywhere in  the  annals  of  Kentucky,  he  persevered. 
When  that  crushing  campaign  of  1782  took  place, 
which,  like  that  led  on  by  Sullivan  in  New  York, 
became  one  of  devastation  and  annihilation,  Ballard, 
under  his  old  commander,  was  present.  The  Indian 
towns  on  the  Miami  and  Sc:oto  were  burnt,  and  the 
last  great  blow  was  struck      It  dispersed  and  de- 


HE  IS  TAKEN  TKISONER.  419 

Btroyed  the  power  of  the  savage  over  fields  and  homea 
which  civilization  claimed  as  its  own. 

Like  Kenton,  Ballard  undertook  the  rugged  and 
dangerous  duty  of  a  spy — a  service  requiring  the  ut- 
most sagacity  and  courage,  and  one  which  is  invalua 
ble  ta  the  army,  but  never  appreciated.  He  followed 
General  Clarke  once  more,  but  there  was  a  want  A 
cohesion  in  the  material  organized  for  another  expe- 
dition against  the  Wabash.  These  pioneers  seldom 
kept  entirely  clear  of  the  Indian.  It  was  the  lot  of 
almost  every  one  of  them,  once  in  the  course  of  hia 
struggling  life,  either  to  be  made  prisoner,  or  else  to 
come  as  near  to  such  an  unpleasant  condition,  as  to 
give  a  very  ugly  memory  to  the  dreams  of  after  life. 
Ballard  had  his  share  in  such  vicissitudes,  ending, 
however,  more  agreeably  than  the  captivity  of  some  of 
his  associates.  While  he  was  actively  reconnoitering 
and  dodging  around  the  enemy,  in  pursuance  of  hia 
duties  as  spy,  he  happened  to  be  near  that  part 
of  the  Ohio  where  the  noble  city  of  Louisville  now 
sends  its  hum  of  industry  into  the  air.  its  tens  of 
thousands  of  prosperous  and  happy  citizens,  as  little 
mindful  of  the  terrible  ordeal  through  which  their 
country  passed,  as  if  their  city  had  an  age  like  that 
of  Rome  He  was  usually  on  the  guard  against  sur- 
prise, as  a  man  in  his  position  must  be.  He  was, 
iow3ver,  set  upon  by  live  Indians.  The  odds  wer« 
too  many,  and  he  had   but  one  course — to  submit. 


i20  BLAJSTD  BALLAED 

The  eflect  of  this  surrender  was  gratifying.     The  In 
dians  took  him  down  the  Ohio,  a  journey  of  twenty- 
five  miles.     To  be  taken  by  these  savages  away  from 
the   settlements,  into  their  own  recesses,  is  not  the 
happiest  pilgrimage  in  the  world  ;  but  he  came  into 
capture  at  a  good  time.     Instead  of  a  horrible  gath- 
ering to  delight  themselves  with  the  torture  of  a  pris 
oner,  the  Indians  were  about  to  indulge  in  the  more 
civilized   amusement   of  horse   racing.      Probably, 
never  did  southern  gentleman  regard  the  turf  with 
more  interest  than  did  Ballard  at  this  time.     The  oc 
casion  seemed  to  have  made  his  captors  merciful,  fo 
although  they  did  not  leave  him  without  a  guard, 
they  did  not  add  to  his  security  by  thongs.     He  kept 
the  brightest  possible  look-out  on  all  that  the  Indiana 
did,  fearing  very  much  that  they  might  be  disposed 
to   add    him    to   the   attractions   of    their    day    of 
amusement. 

The  Indians  must  have  been  in  a  singularly  frolic- 
some humor,  for  one  of  the  chief  incidents  of  the 
evening  of  the  day  of  all  this  merriment,  was  to  be 
a  race  between  two  very  old  warriors.  These  an- 
cients had  not  lost  their  desire  for  sport.  They  liad 
lived  in  the  days  when  the  Indians  had  no  white  man's 
rifle  to  blaze  across  their  path,  but  when  the  "  whole 
boundless  continent "  was  theirs.  Surviving  all  their 
dangers  of  light  and  chase,  they  were  willing  to 
'et  the  young  braves  see  that  they  had   vigor  and 


THE  RACE   FOR  LIFE.  421 

muscie  yet,  for  a  trial  of  speed.     Ballard  had  very 
generous  thoughts  toward  any  such  intention  on  the 
part  of  the  old  men,  since  it  tended  to  keep  the  tribe 
in  o-ood  humor.     The  horse  racing  had  gone  off  well 
It  was  the  "  Derby  day  "  for  the  red  man  ;  and  now 
for  the  tremulous  contest  of  these  sages  of  the  tribe ! 
and  the  young  men  and  the  stout  warriors  w^ere  intent 
on   the   struggle.     Off  they  start ;    the  zeal   of  the 
days  when  they  were  first  in  the  hunt,  was  renewed. 
The  old  limbs  are  straining  to  conquer.     It  is  most 
exciting;    now   this  — now   that  — which   is  ahead? 
Wigwam  is  deserted,  and  the  Indian  has  forgotten 
his  usual  apathy.     Even  the  guard  placed  over  Bal 
Lard  feels  it,  and  he  must  see  the  decision ;  he  leaves 
him  but  a  few  paces,  and  for  the  instant  the  prisoner 
is  but  a  subordinate  affair. 

In  our  own  day,  there  are  fine  horses  on  the  Bear- 
grass  river,  for  the  Kentuckian  justly  boasts  of  the 
finest  stock  in  America.  And  there  were  some 
there  at  the  period  of  our  narrative.  Tlie  Indians 
had  stolen  thence  a  fine  black  horse.  These  pioneera 
thought  quick.  In  an  instant,  while  every  eye  was 
turned  toward  the  two  poor,  old  men,  who  were  quiv- 
ering their  very  hearts  in  the  desperate  endeavor  to 
get  ahead,  Ballard  sprang  on  this  horse,  and  put  the 
animal  to  all  his  speed.  Here  was  a  race  not  an- 
aounced  in  the  calendar.  The  aged  rivals  found  their 
struggle  suddenly  to  have  lost  its  absorbing  interest. 


i:22  BLAND  BALLARD. 

Cliief,  warrior,  jonn«T  men  and  old,  leaped  for  the 
[)i-isoner.  It  was  not  liim  alone,  but  the  noble  black 
ot  Beargrass,  that  was  ,vauishing.  "  Tliej  rode  and 
thej  ran."  It  was  racing  and  chasing  worthy  of 
ballad  like  Young  Lochinvar.  It  was  decidedly  the 
race  of  that  day  of  sport. 

The  savage,  seldom  forgiving  an  escape,  and  not  at 
all  likely  to  let  the  double  crime  of  an  escape  and 
the  raid  of  a  fine  horse  go  without  the  bitterest 
vengeance,  was  after  him.  It  would  have  waked 
Btone  into  life.  The  daring  pioneer  was  in  for  this 
race  for  life ;  and  it  was  victory  or  death  with  him. 
The  Beargrass  steed  was  urged  to  all  his  power,  and 
suddenly  found  himself  the  head  of  such  a  heat  as 
never  before  wet  the  hair  on  his  glossy  skin.  Behind 
him,  the  yell  rang  through  the  forest.  It  was  the 
hour  for  the  concentration  of  exertion,  and  Ballard 
dashed  on  with  a  speed  that  the  Indian  vainly  sought 
to  emulate.  But  his  racer  had  been  quiet;  theirs 
had  already  strained  their  muscles.  The  fresh  horse 
won.  The  pursuit  was  hot,  almost  to  the  river ;  but 
the  Indian  is  soon  disheartened,  and  when  he  found 
himself  so  far  in  the  rear,  he  turned  back,  to  close  his 
festive  day  with  savage  grief  at  his  double  loss 
Ballard  reached  the  settlement,  safely  ;  but  his  noble 
black  sank  with  the  severe  struggle,  soon  after  he  had 
borne  his  new  master  in  triumph  home.  Ballard 
Qever  afterward  fell  intc  their  power,  except  at  th« 


A  DREADFUL  TRAGEDY.  42S 

River  Eaisin,  wliere  he  was  a  prisoner  o^  war,  and  re 
ceived  civilized  usage. 

The  pioneers  usnallj  wore  a  leather  shirt.  Theira 
was  not  an  occupation  or  a  service  where  much  intri 
cacj  in  ruffles  would  have  been  advisable,  but  they 
knew  how  to  prize  the  finer  material  when  it,  by 
some  great  good  luck,  fell  to  them.  By  three  suc- 
cessive and  unerring  shots  from  his  rilie,  a  canoe 
coming  down  the  Ohio  was  emptied  of  three  hostile 
Indians.  For  this  guerrilla  exqloit,  General  Clarke, 
probably  from  his  own  wardrobe,  presented  him  with 
a  linen  shirt ;  and  it  was  for  a  long  time  greatly  es- 
teemed, somewhat,  in  those  primitive  days,  for  its 
intrinsic  worth,  and  probably  not  less  so,  as  it  evi- 
denced the  approbation  his  commanding  officer  be- 
stowed upon  his  skill  and  bravery.  Yery  few  of  the 
pioneers,  in  those  days,  attained  to  the  luxury  of 
linen.  It  was  not  an  era  of  elaborate  toilet.  The 
hunters  of  Kentucky  were  compelled  to  be  "  up  and 
dressed  "  in  time  not  adequate  for  any  great  care  oi 
nicety  in  attire. 

Bland  Ballard  saw  fall,  in  one  fatal  massacre,  hia 
father,  his  sister,  his  half  sister,  his  step-mo tlier ; 
while  his  youngest  sister,  though  tomahawked,  re- 
covered. These  were  the  tragedies  which  made  the 
words, "  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground,"  as  applied  to  Ken- 
tucky, no  words  of  fancy.  They  wrote  its  history  in 
blood.     The  pioneers,  deprived  by  the  foe  of  all  the 


1:24  BLAND  BALLARD. 

dearest  associations  of  life,  became  desperate,  and 
the  war  between  the  races  soon  took  the  terrible  form 
of  a  strnggle  for  extermination.  He  witnessed  tliese 
Bcenes  when  he  was  twenty-seven  years  of  age 
Men   grow  old  prematnrely  nnder  snch  experiences. 

In  single  handed  combat  with  the  Indians,  Ballard 
was  often  engaged.  In  those  desultory  battles,  so 
different  from  the  close  marching  order  of  regular 
troops,  the  occasion  often  came  when  the  man  was 
compelled  to  cope  with  an  antagonist.  The  Indian 
found  Ballard  a  bold  one.  He  had  that  accpiaintance 
with  the  rifle  that  made  the  pioneer  of  Kentucky  a 
household  name  among  all  camps  in  civilization. 
Tlie  skill  of  the  hunter  became  tremendous  in  its 
power,  when  used  in  the  strife  of  war. 

He,  too,  fought  under  "  old  Tippecanoe."  He  led 
his  detachment  at  the  River  Kaisin,  and  received 
wounds,  the  effects  of  which  never  left  him.  It  was 
here  that  he  again  knew  the  fate  of  a  prisoner;  but 
he  fell  into  the  hands  of  soldiery,  wlio  respected  and 
observed  the  usages  of  warlike  and  honorable  men, 
and  was  taken  to  the  custody  of  Fort  George.  Across 
the  peninsula  of  Canada  West,  no  luxury  of  car 
awaited  the  order  of  the  soldier.  It  was  before  tliese 
arts  and  conveniences  of  tliese  better  days  had  made 
even  war  less  fearful.  It  was  a  painful  marcli  to 
which  the  prisoners  were  subjected,  and  Ballard  suf 


mS  GOOD  OLD  AGE. 


425 


fered  by  his  mid-winter  captivity,  in  a  region  wliere 
the  climate  has  miwoiited  severity. 

Tliis  life  of  wild  adventure  was  extended  to  such 
a  "  good  old  age,"  that  he  who  had  known  Kentucky 
as  a  wilderness,  a  home  maintained  only  by  desperate 
bravery,  could  see  around  him  all  the  associations  c  f 
a  state,  so  noble  and  so  favored,  that  her  wealth  of 
man  and  of  estate — of  those  who  swayed  the  conn 
oils  of  the  nation,  and  of  possessions  of  untold  value 
— that  these  were  memorable  over  the  earth.  It  Avas 
reserved  for  this  pioneer,  as  for  Lafayette,  to  live  in 
the  midst  of  posterity. 


JOHN   HARDIN. 

■A.B1>IN'8  FATHER HIS  REMOVAL  TO  THE  MONONGAHELA HU1TIN6  *  NB- 

CSSglTY   OF    FRONTIER    LIFE EARLY    PRACTICE  OF    YOUNG  HARDIN Hli 

FIRST  MILITARY   COMMAND JOINS  CAPT.   MORGAN's  TROOPS IS  SEVERELY 

WOUNDED THE    WAR  OF  THE    REVOLUTION HARDIN    COMMISSIONED  A9 

LIEUTENANT ATTACHED  TO  GEN.   MORGAn's  RIFLE    CORPS ACCOMPANIES 

ARNOLD  TO  QUEBEC SERVES  UNDER  GATES  AT  SARATOGA DARING  EX- 
PLOIT, AND  NARROVT  ESCAPE REFUSES  PROMOTION LEAVES  THE  ARMY 

REMOVES  TO  KENTUCKY SERVES    UNDER   GEN.  CLARKE HIS  TROUBLES 

WITH    THE   INDIANS SENT   ON    A    MISSION    OF   PEACE  TO  THEM THEIR 

TBEACHERY — HIS  DEATH. 

On  the  Monongahela,  that  liquid  name  to  which  the 
European  scholar  delights  to  revert,  when  he  would 
seek  pleasant  utterances  in  the  languages  of  this  side 
of  the  great  water,  the  father  of  the  subject  of  this 
sketch  came,  in  1765.  Wild  and  exposed,  a  very 
frontier  post,  a  faint  dawning  of  the  coming  civiliza- 
tion, was  this  foothold  of  the  white  man.  His  father 
was  of  that  large  class  of  men  without  whom  society 
would  be  a  painted  shell — the  laborer  ;  and  in  look- 
mg  around  Fan(j[uier  county,  lie  tliought,  even  iu  tho 
middle  of  the  last  century — now  a  hundred  years 
dgo — when  we  were  yet  in  colonial  obscurity,  that 
Virginia  might  not  always  afford  sufficient  verge  and 
ro(^m  enougli  for  the  farmer — certainly  not  for  the 
hunter.     The  chase  needs  a  large  area.     It  is  difficult 


HUNTING  A  NECESSITY  OF  FRONTIER  LIFE.  427 

to  enumerate  the  leap  of  the  deer  by  the  "rod -pole 
or  perch."  But  while  Martin  Hardin  was  so  bold  as 
to  remove  from  the  place  of  neighborhood  and  the 
protection  of  law,  he  did  not  quite  like  to  go  away 
from  Yirginia.  He  did  not  calculate  with  the  accu^ 
racy  of  a  surveyor.  When  the  boundary  between 
the  states  was  arranged,  he  was  found  within  the  liin 
its  of  that  state,  which  was  so  gently  purchased  from 
Indian  tenure,  by  that  man  who  has  so  pleasant  and 
precious  name  in  American  history,  but  whose  niche 
in  English  record  Macaulay  has  somewhat  damaged 

—  Truth  being  the  great  Iconoclast  of  History.  That 
portion  of  the  Monongahela  river  bank  where  Martin 
Hardin  fixed  his  cabin,  lay  within  the  line  of  Penn- 
sylvania. 

To  hunt  —  to  hunt  well  —  became  the  business  of 
the  settler.  It  was  not  the  sport  of  an  idle  day,  the 
recreation  after  the  winter's  professional  toil ;  it  was 
the  art  and  skill  learned  under  the  tuition  of  grim 
necessity.  Its  success  tilled  the  cabin  with  plenty, 
and  kept — in  tigure  so  clearly  traceable  to  forest  life 

—  the  wolf  from  the  door.  It  was  in  the  practice  of 
this  art,  that  the  pioneer  became  of  such  deadly 
power  with  the  rifle  ;  so  that  the  Indian  found  his  only 
safety  either  m  peace  or  in  the  cover  of  shelter  ;  fur 
the  aim  once  taken,  the  shot  went  home  to  its  mark. 

Martin  had  good  practice  for  his  son.  In  those 
days  the  game  was  abundant.     The  factories  of  Pitts- 


42 S  JOHN  HARDIN. 

hnrgh,  and  the  shriek  of  the  steam  whistle,  and  the 
tear  of  the  escape  valve,  had  not  made  the  air  a  per 
petual  fright,  and  there  was  a  constant  reward  to  the 
roving  Loy.  And  he  practiced  in  all  days  and  all 
vveathers,  till  he  learned  to  fear  the  storm  as  little  as 
did  the  ancient  Highlander,  and  his  unerring  2  \m 
rang  through  the  forest.  "  The  Hunters  of  Kentucky  " 
has  become  a  synonym  for  skill  of  the  brightest  — 
courage  of  the  boldest ;  and  history  will  yet  bear 
record  how  admirably  the  men,  thus  fitted  for  their 
destiny,  met  the  storm  of  the  revolutionary  struggle 
and  the  border  war. 

John  Hardin  held  a  military  commission  before 
the  revolution,  serving  as  ensign  in  a  company  raised 
for  a  foray  upon  the  Indians.  It  is  of  interest  to 
the  annalist  to  reflect,  that  to  Lord  Dunraore,  who 
had  been  brought  into  contact  with  so  much  of  the 
powerful  in  intellect  and  the  courageous  in  person, 
of  the  men  of  the  court  and  the  camp  in  Virginia,  the 
issues  of  the  revolutionary  contest  must  have  been 
accurately  seen.  He  knew  well,  that  when  such  men 
took  arras,  there  would  be  a  conflict  which,  especially 
when  freedom  was  tlie  prize  to  be  gained,  could  not 
he  a  losing  one  to  them.  When  Hardin  was  just  ar- 
rived of  age,  the  fortune  of  war  gave  him  a  remem- 
brance of  it,  which  he  bore  through  life.  It  was  the 
type  of  his  destiny  to  him.  He  had  not  waited  the 
mercenary  process  of  enlistment,  but  had  joined  the 


IS  SEVERELY  WOUNDEE.  429 

troop  of  Caj^t.  Zack  Morgan.  Tins  was  a  i.ame  asso* 
ciated  in  the  revolution  with  the  utmost  skill  and 
efficiency  as  a  partisan  officer.  Hardin  was  in  the 
heat  of  the  fight.  Imitating  the  posture  of  one  of 
the  ranks  of  the  ancient  phalanx,  he  had  in  part  knelt 
that  his  aim  might  be  certain  ;  and  while  in  that  posi 
tion,  the  enemy  fired  a  successful  shot,  which  struck 
him  on  the  side  of  his  thigh,  wounding  it  sadly,  and 
depositing  itself  in  his  groin.  The  leaden  evidence 
of  that  shot  was  never  extracted. 

But  up  and  away,  even  on  crutches,  the  gallant 
hunter  followed  his  army.  It  was  a  noble  sight  to 
witness  the  wounded  young  soldier  in  the  line  of 
march,  with  a  wound,  which,  to  one  less  bold,  would 
have  affi^rded  ample  excuse  to  have  burthened  the 
troops  with  a  litter. 

On  the  Monongahela,  after  this  campaign  of  1774, 
Hardin  renewed  his  hunting  ;  but  over  the  hills  and 
up  the  streams  came  the  stories  of  the  rising  rebellion 
of  the  Boston  boys,  and  a  new  and  greater  enemy, 
it  was  apparent,  was  to  be  taken  into  the  account, 
by  those  whose  life  was  on  the  frontier.  The  troub- 
les w^th  England,  it  should  always  be  recollected, 
bore  deepest  and  strongest  on  the  commercial  quar- 
ters of  the  colonies  at  first ;  and  the  far  off  settle? 
joined  his  brethren  from  a  feeling  of  common  coun- 
try, and  of  home-born  love  for  a  free  land.  Hardin 
thought  of  Kentucky  ;  for  what  Boone  had  done,  and 


430  JOHN  HAKPtN. 

what  had  been  followed  up  by  Kenton  ani  cthei 
daring  adventurers,  had  aroused  him.  Yet  it  wai 
not  safe  to  encounter  the  perils  of  an  Indian  wilder- 
ness journey,  if  the  savage  was  to  be  stimulated  by 
the  encouragement  and  treasure  of  Great  Britain. 

But  there  was,  soon,  no  doubt  of  the  struggle 
The  continental  congress  had  committed  the  "lives 
and  fortunes  and  sacred  honor  "  of  the  nation  to  the 
war,  and  the  camp  welcomed  the  men  of  forest  life 
as  its  best  recruits.  As  second  lieutenant,  Hardin 
took  commission.  Tliese  evidences  of  the  country's 
trust  were  precious.  The  compiler  of  these  sketches 
recollects  well  his  attendance  at  a  social  party  at  the 
house  of  brave  old  Solomon  Yan  E,ensselaer,  when, 
what  seemed  to  him  the  ornaments  of  the  room  most 
to  be  prized,  were  the  framed  commissions  of  the  vet- 
eran, the  first  in  the  series  being  that  which  bore  the 
signature  of  Washington. 

Hardin's  keen  rifle  was,  appropriately,  soon  ranked 
in  the  service  of  that  Morgan  whose  famous  rifle  corps 
are  in  grateful  and  honorable  historic  recollection. 
One  may  know  how  well  its  fame  is  deserved,  as  it 
is  known  of  what  superb  material  it  was  composed. 

Those  were  not  the  days  of  the  "  Minnie  "  and  th€» 
revolver.  It  was  necessary  that  the  ball  should 
stiike  sure,  the  first  time,  and  that  the  Indian  should 
be  aware  of  that,  as  a  fixed  fact.  The  wagoner  — 
for  such  was  Daniel  Morgan  —  was  early  trained  to 


AN  OFFICEE  OF  THE  CROWN.  433 

war.  He  was  witli  that  army  of  the  crown,  which 
has  made  Braddock's  name  memorable  as  associated 
with  his  own  folly,  and  the  skill  and  generalship  of 
tlie  young  Washington.  lie  bore  the  commission  of 
an  ensign  in  the  troops  of  George  the  Third  ;  but  h« 
found  his  place  soon  in  the  army  of  the  revolution 
When  Arnold  belonged  to  the  race  of  heroes — before 
he  buried  his  memory  in  the  darkness  of  his  treason 
—  when  he,  with  a  daring  that  is  fit  to  rank  with  the 
days  of  modern  Cerro  Gordo  and  Alma,  was  ventur- 
ing the  bravery  of  his  troops  against  the  strong  cita- 
del of  Quebec — the  rifles  of  Morgan  were  with  him. 
He  shared  the  glorious  assault,  and  the  fortunes  of 
the  prisoner's  fate.  But  his  is  a  reputation  which 
needs  no  illustration.  Hardin  served  with  such  a 
commander.  On  one  occasion,  while  reconoitering — 
it  was  while  the  army  was  in  the  north,  and  under 
the  command  of  Horatio  Gates,  that  true  soldier  — 
Hardin  so  astonished  a  group  of  the  enemy,  consist- 
ing of  three  soldiers  of  the  British  army  and  one  In 
dian,  that,  without  waiting  to  see  if  he  was  alone 
they  surrendered,  while  he  had  every  reason  to  ex- 
pect that  their  language  would  rather  have  been 
a  volley.  Hardin  was  too  wary — too  much  a  woods- 
man —  to  trust,  entirely,  this  unexpected  sul  mission. 
He  found  their  guns  down,  but  he  deemed  it  wise  to 
call  out  to  his  party,  who  were  in  the  rear.  The  in- 
stant his  eye  ceased  to  be  fixed  on  his  prisonere,  the 


is 2  JOHN  UARDIN. 

Indian  rapidly  changed  the  grasp  of  his  gnu.  On€ 
second  more,  and  the  conqueror  would  have  been 
the  conquered ;  but  the  light,  as  it  gleamed  on  the 
gun,  showed  Hardin  his  danger.  Up  and  off  went 
both  guns,  but  the  bullet  of  Hardin  was  death's  in- 
stant the  quickest,  and  the  Indian  fell,  yet  not  with 
out  having,  by  sending  his  bullet  through  Hardin'a 
hair,  taught  him  the  thread  of  his  escape. 

General  Gates  rewarded  with  his  thanks  the  valor, 
and  if  the  stories  of  the  battle  reached  that  cabin  of 
the  Monongahela,  where  old  Martin  Hardin  dwelt, 
it  was  a  glorious  thought  for  the  woodman,  that  his 
gallant  son  had  thus  won  the  notice  of  the  command- 
ing officer.  Hardin  had  the  manly  good  sense  to 
know  where  was  his  sphere  of  duty,  and  he  refused 
promotion,  as  its  effect  would  have  been  to  change 
him  to  another  regiment.  He  left  the  army  in  1779, 
and  looked  about  for  a  home.  Traversing  Kentucky, 
he  was  not  deterred  by  the  terrible  winter  that  fol- 
lowed, from  making  that  state  his  residence,  and  in 
17S6,  he  moved  into  the  center  of  the  state -^  that 
county  which  bears  the  name  of  the  Father  of  his 
Country. 

He,  too,  like  all  other  brave  Kentuckians — for  now  he 
was  one — followed  the  banner  of  Gen.  George  Eogera 
Clarke,  and  shared  his  campaigns.  Indeed,  this  gen- 
eral seems  to  have  been  the  Marlborough  of  his  day 
—Ms  name  interwoven  with  all  the  wars  of  the  state. 


HIS  DEATU  BY  TKEACllEKiT.  43 

TTie  Indians  harassed  Hardin  in  every  way.  They 
skirmished  around  him,  hovered  near  his  farm,  made 
successful  raids  into  his  property,  lifted — as  the  ex- 
pression of  the  Highlander  had  it  —  his  cattle,  and 
absolutely  left  his  plow  without  a  horse.  But  they 
sent  their  blows  at  a  shield  that  was  sure  to  press 
forward.  Wherever  Kentucky  called  for  an  expedi- 
tion against  the  savages,  there  was  the  rifle  of  Hardin. 

And,  at  last,  the  warrior,  the  forest-trained,  daring 
warrior,  was  sent  on  a  mission  of  peace  ;  and  it  is 
pleasant  here  to  remember,  that,  years  before,  he  had 
enrolled  his  name  among  those  who  worshiped  in 
that  pioneer  church  —  so  faithful  even  in  the  wilder- 
ness—  the  Methodist.  AYilkinson  selected  him  to 
propose  a  peace  to  the  Indian  tribes,  and  he  obeyed, 
though  he  knew  the  Indian  so  well  as  to  be  self- 
warned  of  the  danger.  The  Indian's  treachery  was 
proverbial.  He  arrived  at  an  Indian  camp,  near 
Fort  Defiance,  and  rested  beneath  their  roof.  They 
were  false  to  their  guest,  and  in  the  morning  shot  him 
to  death  ;  thus  meeting,  in  the  very  zenith  of  his  life, 
a  violent  death,  in  the  discharge  of  the  most  grateful 
duty  8,  true-hearted  soldier  knows — an  offer  for  peace. 
And  so  this  gentle-hearted  but  firm  pioneer  passed 
away,  and  Kentucky  preserves  his  memory  as  of 
those  dear  to  her,  by  his  devotion  to  her  cause. 


BENJAMIN   LOGAN. 

■U  BIRTH-PLACE VIRGINIA  AS  A  COLONY HER  GREAT  MEN DEATH  Of  K 

OAN'8    father — NCBLE   CONDUCT   OF   THE    SON SERVES   AS    A  SOLDIElr 

EEMOVES  TO  KENTUCKY— CHOOSES  A  HOME   AND   BUILDS  A  FORT ^ITS    LO- 
CATION  REMOVES  HIS    FAMILY  TO    HARRODSBURGH DANGER  FROM  THI 

INDIANS REMOVAL  OF  HIS  FAMILY  TO  HIS  OWN  FORT — ATTACKED  BY  THI 

INDIANS LOGAN's  BRAVERY HE  RESCUES  ONE  OF  HIS  COMPANIONS A 

PROTRACTED   SIEGE WANT   OF    AMMUNITION LOGAN    GOES  TO    HARRODS- 
BURGH FOR   A  SUPPLY PERILS  OF  THE  JOURNEY HIS  SUCCESS  AND  SAKB 

^      RE  rURN^-OBSTINACY    OF   THE    SIEGE    AND    THE    DEFENSE COL.    BOWMAN 

COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE FLIGHT  OF  THE    SAVAGES HIS    OTHER  MILITARY 

SERVICES LOGAN  AS  A  CIVILIAN — HIS  INDIAN  NAMESAKE. 

This  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  Pi- 
oneers of  Kentucky,  deserving  of  the  high  place  he 
has  in  the  histories  of  that  state,  and  yet,  such  is  the 
wayward  course  of  popular  remembrance,  it  is  ques- 
tionable whether  the  name  of  Logan  is  not,  in  tht 
mind  of  most  our  people,  associate  with  the  eloquent 
Indian  chief,  whose  pathetic  address  over  his  slaugh 
tered  family,  was  made  prominent  to  the  notice  of 
mankind,  by  the  attention  given  it  by  Thomas  Jof 
ferson. 

His  parents  were  foreign  born.  They  fixed  their 
abode  in  this  country,  at  first,  in  Pennsylvania,  but 
afterward  transferred  their  residence  to  Augusta 
tounty,  in  Virginia.    There,  where  the  bold  scenery 


VIRGINIA  AS  A  COLONY.  435 

of  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  the  more  than  magic  wonder 
of  the  great  cave  of  Wejer,  will  always  make  memo- 
rable their  localities,  Logan  was  born.  These  were 
the  days  of  Virginia  as  a  colony,  and  it  is  questiona- 
ble whether  England,  in  sending  Lord  Botetourt  and 
the  Earl  of  Dunmore  to  preside  over  its  affairs,  could 
have  found  in  all  her  colonial  dependencies,  situations 
of  higher  honor.  The  men  who  were  gathered  in 
Virginia  then,  were  such  as  may  have  been  present 
to  the  mind  of  Sir  William  Jones,  when  he  depicted 

"  What  constitutes  a  state  ?  — 
Not  high  raised  battlement  and  labored  mound, 
Thick  wall  or  moated  gate  ; 
Not  cities  proud-     *         *         «         » 
Men,  high-minded  Men,     *         *         * 
Men,  who  their  duties  know, 

But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain — 
Prevent  the  long  aimed  blow. 

And  crush  the  tyrant  while  they  rend  the  chain— 
These  constitute  the  State." 

It  is  well  for  us  to  go  back  to  those  days.  They 
do  not  belong  to  Virginia  alone,  but  to  all,  and  no 
incident  of  time's  progress  can  rend  them  from  us. 
How  noble  was  the  collection  of  the  great  and  the 
gifted,  when  that  colony  could  send,  as  its  delegation 
to  the  provincial  congress,  such  an  assemblage  as 
George  Washington,  Peyton  Randolph,  Richard 
Ifenry  Lee,  Edmund  Pendleton,  Richard  Bland,  Ben- 
jamin Harrison,  Patrick  Hemy,  and  these  did  aol 


4:36  BENJAMIN  LOGAN. 

exhaust  her  honored  and  honorable.     It  was  in  such 

a  colony,  in  its  center,  that  Logan  was  born.  If  ex- 
ample, if  stirring  incident,  if  the  events  that  mould 
men,  can  form  character,  that  of  the  Virginian  in 
that  time  must  have  possessed  lineaments  of  strength 
and  patriotism. 

Virginia  followed  England  in  her  laws,  and  the 
right  of  primogeniture  gave  the  first-bom  the  best  of 
the  estate.     It  was  to  build  up  one,  and  make  de 
pendents  of  the  many.     It  is  not  an  institution  for 
our  day,  nor  is  it  one  to  which  the  republican  heart 
beats  responsive.     When  the  father  of  Logan  died, 
which  event;  always  of  the  saddest  that  comes  across 
the  page  of  life,  took  place  in  Logan's  fourteenth 
year,  his  birthright  gave  him  the  lands  which  his 
father  had  held.     When  Wade  Hampton,  of  South 
Carolina,  opened  the  will  of  his  father's  princely  es- 
tate, he  found  that  it  was  all  left  to  him,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  his  brothers  and  sisters.     Its  provisions  made 
him  vastly  wealthy.     He  called  the  other  children 
together,  read  out  the  contents  of  the  will  to  them, 
and  threw  the  document,  all  signed  and  sealed  and 
verified,  into  the  fire.     And  of  such  noble  conduct 
was  the  act  of  Logan.     He  took  care  of  all  left  arc  und 
him,  and  not  till  he  had  seen  mother  and  kindred 
provided  with  a  home,  did  he  look  out  for  his  own 
He  chose  his  residence  on  Holston  river.     It  wat 
nearer   the   Cumberland   mountains  —  nearer    thosn 


SERVES  AS  A  SOLDIER.  43T 

gcenes  of  glowing  life,  of  ricli  land,  and  boundless  do 
inain^  at  the  sight  of  which  Findley,  and  Boone,  and 
Stewart  went  forth.  And  so  he  left  the  Blue  Ridge, 
and  made  his  southwai-d  way. 

The  soldier  was  soon  discernible  in  Logan.  He 
was  one  of  those  men  to  whom  the  bold  was  the 
beautiful.  He  was  of  the  troops  of  Col.  Beauquette, 
where,  although  his  rank  was  not  very  exalted,  being 
that  of  a  sergeant,  he  did  good  service.  He  followed 
the  standard  of  Dunmore  when  that  nobleman  led  an 
expedition  to  the  northwest  of  Ohio. 

He  was  now  near  ^he  Cumberland  mountains,  and 
beyond  them  lay  Kentucky.  If  our  readers  will  rec- 
ollect the  animated  interest  which  pervaded  that 
section  of  country  when  Boone  returned  from  his  ex- 
pedition— 'the  manner  in  which  he  confirmed  the  sto- 
ries of  Findley  —  the  earnestness  in  which  that  truth- 
ful man  depicted  the  advantages  which  would  result 
from  a  brave  march  thither,  and  occupation  —  they 
will  understand  how  readily  Logan  was  induced  to 
turn  his  look  toward  Kentucky.  The  famous  Hen- 
derson— ^that  man  who  achieved  the  possession  of  a 
Btate,  which,  however  ephemeral,  incorporated  Tran- 
gylvania  into  history  —  was  one  whom  Logan  met. 
He  traveled  also  with  Boone  himself — a  meeting  of 
the  brave  to  which  one  would  have  gone  weary  pil- 
grimage to  have  been  witness.  In  reference  to  the 
proper  plan  o^ settlement,  he  judged  for  himself;  he 


4:38  BENJAMIN  LOGAN. 

left  his  companions,  and  made  his  home  in  what  la 
now  the  county  of  Lincoln,  near  the  center  of  the 
Btate.  Here,  like  a  soldier,  he  was  not  content  with 
an  ordinary  log  house.  He  knew  what  the  times 
were,  and  what  was  all  around  him,  and  he  built  a 
fort.  These  pioneers,  ii^  this,  acted,  only  on  a  ruder 
scale,  just  as  did  the  nobles  of  the  Rhine,  formerly, 
when  they  built  fortress  and  stronghold  on  all  such 
places  —  however  extraordinary  seems  to  us  the  loca- 
tion—  as  promised  security  from  the  foe.  This  was 
about  a  mile  west  of  the  present  town  of  Stanford. 
Between  this  fort  and  his  reside ^ce,  on  the  Holston 
river,  he  made  repeated  journeys,  fearless  of  all  the 
dangers  that  were  in  every  form  of  savage  or  wild 
beast.  These  were  in  themselves  such  trials  of  cour- 
age as  are  now  heard  lightly,  but  in  their' hour  were 
of  the  boldest.  He  traversed  a  country  as  a  soldier, 
keenly  alive  to  the  necessity  of  the  strictest  guard 
against  surprise,  where  now  these  pages  may  be  read 
in  all  the  ease  of  the  traveler  who  knows  no  danger, 
except  from  peril  to  a  locomotive. 

When  1776  came  with  its  decisive  movement  for  in- 
dependence, Logan  removed  his  family,  and  became 
one  of  the  pioneers  of  Kentucky.  There  is  a  trait  of 
character  developed  here,  which  at  once  makes  tlie 
man  a  favorite  with  all  who  respect  the  brave.  The 
Indian  was  intensely  excited  that  year.  Under  the 
'ead  of  B(  one,  the  settler  had   begun  to  rear  hig 


REMOVES    HIS    FAMILY  TO    KElNTUCKT.  430 

nouse  where  their  wigwam  had  been  supreme ;  tliG 
white  man's  rifle  brought  down  their  game,  and  bji 
its  power  disputed  sway  over  tlieir  hunting  ground. 
The  signs  of  decay  were  on  them,  and  they  made  ev- 
ery demonstration  of  ferocity  to  avert  their  fate 
They  thought  it  was  their  very  life  to  crush  out  the 
settler,  and  he  who  came  into  that  land  at  that  day, 
must  work  as  did  the  nobles  who  gathered  around 
Uehemiah,  in  the  rebuilding  of  the  chosen  city's 
walls — the  sword  in  one  hand.  At  this  time,  Har- 
rodsburgh  offered  a  greater  security  from  the  concen- 
tration of  a  larger  number  of  settlers,  who  formed  a 
company  that  the  Indian  hesitated  to  attack.  To 
this  safety  Logan  removed  his  wife  and  family.  He 
went  back  to  his  fort  and  farm,  turning  aside  from 
no  peril.  There  he  passed  that  memorable  year  with 
the  men  whom  he  had  brought  out  with  him  ;  and 
though  danger  was  in  every  day,  they  were  not  mo- 
lested. The  Providence  that  directs  the  nations 
watched  over  over  these  beginnings  of  a  great  people. 
There  were  brave  women,  as  well  as  daring  men, 
m  those  days.  Mrs.  Boone  had  followed  her  hus- 
band, amidst  a  wilderness  that  seemed  more  likely  to 
afford  a  grave  than  a  shelter  ;  Mrs.  Logan  left  Har- 
rodsbugh  and  ventured  the  dangers  of  the  fort. 
Where  her  husband  was,  was  home,  and  it  was  wise 
to  risk  peril  for  that  good.  Logan  knew  the  addi- 
tional responsibilitv  which  this  imposed.  It  was  ap* 
S* 


440  BENJAMIN  Lv>GAN. 

palling  enough  to  hear  the  Indian's  yell  in  the  nighty 
when  men  were  around  him;  but  when  he  knew 
the  fearful  sound  reached  the  ear  of  her  who  had 
come  to  that  wild  place,  to  follow  with  devoted  heart 
his  fortunes,  it  acquired  a  terror  that  reached  the  in 
ner  heart.  But  he  gathered  around  him  a  welcome 
reinforcement  of  men,  who  had  found  the  fort,  and 
prepared  for  whatever  chance  of  peace  or  w^ar  might 
be  his  to  experience. 

The  trial  soon  came.  In  all  their  fury,  an  hundred 
Indians  trampled  on  through  the  forest,  determined 
to  destroy  the  fort,  and  their  number  seemed  adequate 
to  the  purpose.  Their  attack  found  a  portion  of  the 
force  outside  the  logs,  and  when  the  Indians  fired, 
there  was  a  bitter  loss.  One  of  the  wounded,  named 
Harrison,  fell,  and  failed  to  reach  the  fort.  To  res- 
cue him  was  to  draw  the  fire  of  the  Indians,  who, 
encouraged  by  their  success,  were  ready  to  seize  ev- 
ery advantage,  and  to  follow  it  up.  The  assault  had  re- 
duced the  garrison  from  fifteen  to  twelve.  To  venture 
on  another  fire,  seemed  madness ;  but  there  lay  the 
•vounded  man,  and  Logan  would  not  leave  him  there 
"  Who  will  go  with  me  and  bring  him  in?"  said  he— 
and  there  was  no  response.  It  is  difiicult  to  call  this 
refusal  cowardice,  for  the  voice  of  good  judgment 
would  have  told  the  stern  decision,  that  it  was  duty 
to  preserve  what  remained,  and  that,  sad  as  it  was 
to  leave  the  wounded,  there  was  a  higher  obligation 


WANT    JF    AMMUNITION  44^ 

CO  the  living.  One  man — John  Martin — could  mA 
resist  Logan's  appeals,  and  with  him  Logan  lushed 
forward.  The  tlireatened  fire  blazed  as  they  left  the 
gate,  and  Martin  retreated,  but  Logan  dashed  on. 
The  balls  cut  the  air  all  around  him.  He  threw  poor 
Harrison  on  his  shoulders,  and  though  a  hundred 
rifles  flashed,  he  sprang  back  into  the  fort,  unharmed. 
This  exasperated  the  Lidians,  and  they  pushed  for- 
ward with  all  their  strength  ;  but  the  garrison  had 
their  leader  with  them,  and  won  to  greater  determi- 
nation by  the  act  of  bravery  which  they  had  jus^ 
witnessed  in  their  leader,  they  fought  nobly.  The 
Indians  seemed  resolved  to  conquer,  and  the  indica- 
tions of  a  prolonged  siege  soon  became  apparent. 
The  garrison  fired  a  fatal  rifle  whenever  the  foe  ap- 
peared within  its  range,  its  owner  cheered  by  the 
heroism  of  the  women  in  the  fort,  who  moulded  the 
bullets.  They  did  not  fear  tlie  savage  while  they 
had  powder  and  ball  as  their  allies;  but  their  ammu- 
nition was  not  abundant,  and  if  that  was  exhausted, 
the  fort  would  be  a  speedy  prey,  and  worse  than 
death  awaited  the  captured.  More  supplies  must  be 
bad.  Who  w^as  brave  enough  to  find  his  way  through 
the  woods  to  the  settlements,  with  such  a  foe  in  al" 
their  might?  and  who  would  be  found,  if  Logan  wem 
this  journey  of  peril,  to  lead  the  garrison — to  cop 
duct  the  defense — most  of  all,  to  protect  the  wr  mei 


442  BENJAMIN  LOGAN. 

whose  everj    hope   under  heaven  was  in  the  cour 
age  of  the  besieged  ? 

Logan  dared  the  journey.  He  gave  his  garrisoc 
the  word  of  a  brave  man,  that  his  return  would  be  a 
speedy  one,  if  life  remained.  It  did  not  need  this 
assurance.  It  was  enough  for  him,  that  the  wife  tlia 
had  braved  all  these  perils  for  his  love,  remained. 
fie  looked  around  among  his  men,  to  see  who  would 
be  courageous  enough  to  take  the  journey  with  him, 
and  finding  two  that  he  could  thus  trust,  in  the  night, 
when  least  of  all  did  the  Indians  think  that  any  one 
would  leave  the  fort,  believing,  as  they  did,  that  it 
was  to  the  strength  of  the  fort  the  white  man  owed 
all  his  protection,  they  started  on  their  perilous  jour- 
ney. It  is  gratifying  for  the  annalist  to  mark  how  su- 
perior, even  in  his  own  forest  strategy,  the  white  man, 
by  the  power  of  his  knowledge,  became.  That  was 
a  breathless  moment,  when,  tearing  himself  away 
from  his  faithful  wife  —  who  could  not  but  have 
thought  it  most  probable  that  his  farewell  was  a  finax 
one — he  stepped  out  into  the  open  ground  beyond 
the  fort.  The  Indian  had  his  lines  about,  but  they 
who  sought  to  thread  them  had  all  the  Indian's  saga 
city,  with  a  deeper  skill  superadded.  They  moved  as 
Bilently  as  the  tread  of  the  bird,  and,  watching  as 
keenly  as  the  friendly  darkness  would  allow,  they 
Bucceeded  in  passing  through  the  enemy's  forces.  Ldh 
gan  was  too  wary  to  take  an  ordinary  road.     Trnc;f  Jnij 


OBSTINACT  01  THE  SIEOE  AND  THE  DEFENSE.         44d 

to  his  knowledge  of  sun  and  star  and  woodcraft,  he 
pushed  for  the  wild  mountain,  and  soon  left  an  inter- 
val between  him  and  the  fort,  though  it  seemed  to 
him  as  if  he  was  parting  from  life,  to  leave  the  place 
where  he  had  left  what  was  dearer  to  him  than  life. 
Over  mountain — through  fastness — here  avoiding  a 
convenient  path,  lest  his  Indian  foe  might  have 
straggling  adherent  there,  who  would  communicate 
to  the  besiegers  that  so  important  part  of  the  defense 
as  the  commander  had  gone — his  bold  heart  braved 
all  peril,  night  and  day ;  and  he  came  to  the  Holston 
river,  procured  his  supplies,  and  made  every  ar- 
rangement to  have  them  brought  on.  Then  hasten- 
ing back,  he  faced  the  dangers  of  the  journey  again, 
and  this  time  alone.  Like  Boone,  he  had  small  fear 
of  solitude,  whatever  of  darkness  might  overshadow, 
or  peril  seem  to  threaten.  Men  of  the  woods  and 
border  wars  soon  leai-ned  to  discern  the  vast  dif- 
ference between  fancied  dangers  and  real  ones. 

Meanwhile,  the  siege  continued ;  and  the  defen- 
ders, economizing  their  powder  and  lead,  fired  so 
surely  that  no  successful  efibrt  was  made  to  carry  the 
fort  by  assault.  Nevertheless,  the  ten  days  in  whicl 
Logan  was  absent,  were  of  the  longest. 

But  they  passed ;  and  triumphing,  as  before,  by 
tUe  utmost  sagacjty,  over  all  the  journey — its  dan- 
gers increasing  at  fearful  augmentation  as  he  neareti 
his  destination — he  succeeded  in  reaching  the  gate  ol 


444  BENJAMIN  LOGAlf. 

tlie  fort;  and  never  did  its  rude  hinges  move  more 
gratefully,  than  when  the  word  was  given  that  Logan 
had  returned.  In  our  calm  day  we  can  faintly  real- 
ize the  emotions  of  joy  with  which  wife  and  friends 
welcomed  the  brave  Logan.  Now  they  fought  with 
renewed  courage.  If  the  powder  was  measured  out 
closely,  and  every  bullet  seemed  more  than  golden  in 
ralue,  they  knew  that  there  was  good  hope  of  more, 
and  they  fought  on.  The  Indians  were  troubled  at 
the  tenacity  of  the  defense,  but  still  blazed  away, 
and  expected  to  weary  the  garrison  out.  Suddenly 
they  found  their  attention  called  to  their  own  safety. 
The  quick  eye  of  the  savage  told  him  the  signs  of  a 
force  approaching,  and  he  found  himself,  most  unex- 
pectedly and  unwillingly,  between  the  besieged  and 
an  advancing  rescue.  The  news  of  the  attack  on  the 
fort  had  found  its  way  to  Colonel  Bowman,  and  he 
pushed  on  to  its  relief.  The  assistance  came  oppor- 
tunely, and  when  the  Indians  fled,  the  garrison  felt 
that  never  was  rescue  more  desirable.  Of  this  siege, 
as  of  that  of  Boonesborough,  our  military  annala 
have  too  long  been  silent.  Less  valorous  defensei 
bave  immortalized  men  ;  and  it  is  time  that  these  sol- 
diers of  the  Revolution,  Boone,  and  Logan,  and 
Clarke,  sliould  be  raised  to  the  proper  rank  of  theii 
fame  in  our  history. 

That  very  year  (1777)  he  was  again  so  near  tlie  In 
dians,  in   one  of  his  forays,  that   they  seized   du-  hii 


HI8  brav:eby  at  ohlllicothe.  445 

of  kis  horse.  This  was  on  a  hunting  expeditiort 
Two  years  afterward,  he  was  second  in  command  un 
der  Colonel  Bowman  in  the  disastrous  expedition 
against  Chillicothe — disastrous,  because  Logan  waa 
not  the  superior  officer.  Broken  up  and  dishear- 
tened as  it  was  by  the  extraordinary  inertness  of  the 
chief  officer,  it  was  not  till  after  Logan  had  made 
Monterey  fight,  from  cabin  to  cabin,  and  under  a 
breastwork  of  the  plank  floors  which  he  tore  up — 
astonishing  the  Indian  by  the  skill  of  his  attack  and 
the  movable  nature  of  his  defenses — that  Logan  re- 
luctantly obeyed  the  order  to  retreat.  The  records 
of  this  fight  exonerate  Logan  from  the  untoward  fate 
of  the  day,  and  the  Indians  Avho  gloried  greatly  in 
having  won  the  battle,  remembered  severely  the  bold 
part  taken  by  Logan,  and  did  not  attribute  their  vic- 
tory to  his  failure. 

If  Logan  could  only  have  been  present  at  the  bat- 
tle of  the  Blue  Licks,  whither  he  was  hastening  with 
a  powerful  force — if  Boone's  counsels  to  await  his 
coming,  could  have  prevailed — the  fate  of  that  sad  day 
would  have  been  different.  Kentucky  lost  brave 
sons  that  day,  and  mourned,  for  many  a  long  year, 
tl^e  rashness  that  precipitated  the  fight  against  the 
advice  of  the  old  soldier. 

Then  Logan  went  back  to  the  pursuits  of  the  far- 
mer, and  thus  contributed  his  share  to  the  early  agri- 
cultural prosperity  of  his  rich  state.     He  shouldered 


446  BENJAMIN    LOGAN. 

his  rifle  once  more  against  the  marauding  Indiani 
in  1788. 

In  civil  life,  Colonel  Logan  contributed  his  share 
to  the  formation  of  the  republic,  and  the  maturing 
of  the  state.  Seldom  has  a  state  been  enabled  to 
call  into  its  counsels,  so  many  from  among  the  ranks 
of  those  who  had  been  conspicuous  in  battle,  who 
could  wisely  determine  the  best  policy  to  be  pursued 
in  the  calmer  walks  of  life.  But  the  soldiers  of  Ken- 
t]:cky  were  not  a  hired  or  mercenary  army.  They 
were  the  pioneers — the  settlers — the  men  who  con- 
quered the  laud  on  which  they  sought  to  live,  and 
who  only  awaited  the  close  of  hostilities,  to  be  indus- 
trious in  all  the  arts  of  peace.  In  many  respects, 
George  Washington  was  of  the  school  of  the  Ken- 
tucky pioneer.  He  had  the  same  fondness  for  the 
sports  and  craft  of  the  forest — the  same  steadfast, 
single  purpose  to  rescue  the  country  to  civilization — 
the  same  familiarity  with  danger — the  same  desire  to 
abide  by  his  rural  home. 

There  was  an  Indian  who  took  the  name  uf  the 
subject  of  our  sketch,  by  whom  he  was  once  mad-e 
prisoner,  who  was  of  memorable  lineage,  since  of 
near  kindred  to  him  were  Tecumseh  and  the  Prophet 
— those  strange,  great  men,  to  whom  after  ages  wih 
look  back  with  majestic  interest.  lie  led  a  brave 
life,  made  himself  memorable  by  acts  of  valor,  and 
perished,  at  last,  in  a  combat  of  the  most  daring 


HIS  LNI)LA_N  NAMESAKE. 


44 


boldness.  The  Kentucky  pioneer  is  remembered  in 
his  state  with  the  honor  due  a  life  of  faithful  ser- 
vice ;  but  for  the  Indian—"  Who  is  t/m'c  to  mourn 
far  Zoga7i?^^ 


19 


WllUAU  RUSSElk. 

■e    RIETH     AND    RESIDENCE    IN    VIRGINIA DANGER    ATTENDING   THE   F«Or 

TIER    SKTTLEMENTS RUSSELL    SERVES  UNDER    BO  )NE HIS  EARLY    CHA* 

ACXER BULLITt's     LICK THE    MANUFACTURE  OF    hALT  THERE DANGEM 

ATTENDING  IT NECESSITY     FOR     CONSTANT    GUARD    AGAINST    SURPRISE— 

BTEALTHINESS    OF  THE    SAVAGES RUSSELL    AN  ACTOR    IN  SUCH  SCENES — 

OK    VISITS    KENTUCKY THE     HARD  WINTER VISITS  THE    INFANT  SETTLE- 
MENT AT  NASHVILLE ASSISTS    IN     ITS  DEFENSE THE    BATTLE    OF   KING's 

MOUNTAIN THE     VIRGINIA      MOUNTED     REGIMENT RUSSELL      SECOND     IM 

COMMAND HIS    BRAVERY HE    REMOVES    TO  KENTUCKY SERVES  UNDEB 

WAYNE  AND  HARRISON. 

Virginia  was  a  province  when  the  pioneer  whose 
career  is  the  subject  of  this  narrative  was  born.  It 
was  in  1758,  near  the  period  of  tliat  contest,  the  last 
our  fathers  fought  for  England,  and  the  last  in  which 
the  crown  found  the  men  of  Virginia  struggling  to 
secure  the  dominion  of  royalty  over  this  fair  country. 
It  was  in  the  days  of  the  old  French  war — a  period 
ef  struggle,  the  narration  of  which  would  exhibit 
heroism  and  incident  of  such  interest,  as  would  arouse 
the  grateful  recollection  of  our  people  that  such  an 
ancestry  was  ours.  It  is  a  memorable  fact  in  the  an 
nals  of  the  Pioneers  of  Kentucky,  that  to  many  of 
theui  it  was  given  to  pass  the  forming  years  of  their 
life  through  such  a  series  of  the  boldest  and  most 
eventful   scenes,  as   originated   from   the   war  with 


JOURNEY  INTO  TIIJO  WIJ.hJatNESS.  449 

France,  tlie  revolution,  und  the  loii<r  endurance  of 
the  border  Indian  fights.  Thej  were  inured  to  war 
ill  all  its  forms.  'The  discipline  of  the  European 
troops,  and  the  vigor  and  expedients  of  the  hunter, 
were  combined  in  them. 

At  an  early  age,  the  lather  of  Eussell  left  hie  home 
in  Culpepper  county,  and   sought  the  far  off  south  ■ 
western   region,  near  where  the  Cumberland   range 
lifts  its  heights;  a  wild  region  then,  and  even  now 
replete  with  all  the  features  of  the  gorge,  the  crag, 
the  fastness.     It  was  a  journey  demanding  courage 
and  enterprise.     Culpepper  was  in   that  portion  of 
the  state  to  which  the  alarms  of  Indian  warfare  came 
unheeded.     In  going  to  the  frontier,  all  the  defenses 
of  concentrated  life  were   left  behind.     The  soldier 
was  near  the  Potomac,  and  there  the  sound  of  artil- 
lery could  be  summoned  to  the  rescue;  but  he  who 
went  to  the  Cumberland,  traveled  with  his  rifle  as  hia 
friend.     He  must  know  the  wood  camp  as  his  protec- 
tion, and  the  watch-fire  as  his  guard.  No  man  else  could 
go  to  those  counties— not  counties  then,  but  remote 
hinds — to  which  Dunmore  and  the  other  royal   o-ov- 
ernors  gave  small  heed ;  rather  leaving  them  to  such 
defence  as   the   scattered   pioneers  could   gather  to- 
gether, than  affording  them  aid  from  any  of  the  co- 
lonial forces.     The  pioneer  counted  on  all  these  diffi- 
culties,  and  rather  wooed  danger  than  avoided  it. 
Virginia  has  had  the  good  taste  and  justice  to  fij 


4:50  WILLIAM  RDSSELL. 

on  her  map,  tlie  name  of  Russell  to  one  of  her  south 
western  counties;  thus  giving  to  the  future  the  grate* 
ful  memory  of  the  services  he  had  rendered.  It  ia 
one  of  a  group  of  counties,  each  of  them  bearing 
names  associate  with  those  who  have  been  distin 
guished  in  the  times  of  earnest  action  for  freedom 
In  such  names  as  Washington,  and  Scott,  and  Lee, 
and  Russell,  the  historian  recalls  the  good  and  the 
brave. 

Russell  had  the  forest  education.  Excepting  in 
the  case  of  Jo  Daviess,  the  career  of  the  pioneers 
received  little  aid  from  the  learning  of  the  college. 
It  was  in  this  frontier  school,  where  there  never  was 
Becurity  for  life,  and  w^here  the  day  most  prosperous 
or  agreeable  might  terminate  in  the  wildest  assault, 
that  Russell  learned  self-reliance — to  be  collected  in 
purpose  and  concentrate  in  action. 

He  soon  took  upon  himself  the  duties  and  perils  of 
maturer  life,  though  in  age  but  a  boy.  He  was  but 
fifteen  when  he  formed  part  of  a  company  which, 
under  the  leadership  of  Daniel  Boone,  went  out  to 
repel  the  incursions  of  the  Indians.  It  was  a  mem- 
ory worth  cherishing,  to  have  served  in  the  troop  of 
the  great  pioneer  ;  for  from  him  could  be  learned  the 
superior  wood-craft  of  the  unequaled  hunter,  and  the 
tactics  of  the  soldier.  Ardent,  and  determined  to 
do  all  his  duty,  he  emulated  the  labors  of  the  older 
men   around    him,   and   bore    fatigues   beyond    hii 


HIS  EARLY  ClIARACTEE.  451 

Strength.  It  is  a  curious  trait  of  the  times,  that  so 
mauy  very  young  men  became  prominent ;  taking 
:ipon  themselves  the  privations,  and  enduring  tlie 
hardships,  which,  in  our  own  more  luxurious  day, 
are  seldom  assumed  until  the  frame  is  thoroughly 
knit  together  by  the  growth  of  maturer  years.  Wa 
read  of  the  pioneers — of  their  hard  life — their  long 
marches — their  courageous  encounters — their  skill  in 
foray  and  siege — and  forget  that  those  who  have 
left  such  record  were  young  men,  scarcely  arrived  at 
the  age  of  manhood,  forced  into  toils  and  sufferings 
to  which  this  quiet  age  is  utter  stranger,  and  render- 
ing it  a  marvel  that  so  many  of  these  storm-tossed 
young  men  reached  such  hearty  old  age  as,  it  is  glad 
to  think,  was  their  lot. 

It  was  said  of  Zachary  Taylor,  that  he  "  grew  up  to 
manhood  with  the  yell  of  the  savage  and  the  crack 
of  the  rifle  almost  constantly  ringing  in  his  ears." 
It  was  equally  true  of  Eussell.  A  man  who,  at  fif- 
teen, when  he  could  not  really  carry  his  rifle  through 
a  long  march,  and  who  was  compelled  to  keep  guard 
over  the  very  door  of  his  father's  house,  had  a  youth 
that  left  no  trace  of  mediocrity.  He  took  life  by  ita 
boldest  grasp,  at  once. 

From  the  time  that  he  followed  Boone  in  repelling 
the  attacks  of  the  southern  Indians,  who  had  made 
t'ds  attack  on  the  infant  settlements,  to  the  yeai 
.  79,  the   south-western   part   of  Virginia  was  onu 


1-52  WILLIAM  RUSSELL. 

icene  of  harassing  alarms.     It  is  well  for  us  to  rea\ 
Ize  of  what  these  alanns  were.     In  our  day,  to  aL 
the  closer  portions  of  our  country,  the  sound  of  an 
invasion  or  an  incursion  is  utterly  unknown.     We 
read  of  the  bloody  days  of  the  border  wars,  and  read 
them  with  interest,  but  not  with  any  feeling  of  assc^ 
ciation.     They  might  be  the  truth,  or  they  might  be 
the  fiction  of  the  Arabian  story-teller.     They  awake 
the  thrill  of  those  who  hear,  but  not  the  sympathy  of 
the  fellow  actor.     It  is   one  thing   to  know  no  war 
greater  than  that  of  street  skirmish,  which  may,  in 
a  score  of  years,  be  witnessed  in  a  metropolis — the 
invaders,  the  police,  and  the  mob,  the  invaded — but 
of  the  midnight  rattle  of  the  rifle,  the  sharp  sound 
cracking   amid  the  demoniac   yell    of   the   savage, 
heard  when  the  sleeping  hour  is  sweetest — for  that 
darkest  hour  before  the  dawn  was  the  favorite  time 
for  attack — of  all  this  we  know  nothing.     It  is  in  his- 
tory such  scenes  live;  and  none  can  appreciate  the 
storm  in  which  such  states  as  Virginia  and  Kentucky 
were  cradled,  without  attentive  perusal  of  such  an- 
nals.     The  worst    chapters   in  such  history — those 
which  give  us  strongest  impressions  of  the  realities 
of  the  dangers,  are  found  not  so  much  in  the  accounts 
of  the  leading  battles  of  that  period,  but  in  the  per- 
sonal adventures  of  the  pioneers. 

Threading   their  early   lives,  there   were   escapes 
which  seemed  to  realize  all  of  danger  that  could  ap 


BULLirr's  LICK.  453 

pal  the  heart,  and  jet  from  out  wliicli  tlie  pionocj 
was  brought  safely,  under  circumstances,  frequently 
^du;re  the  man  must  have  been  indurated  in  inii- 
delitj,  if  he  could  not  recognize  the  merciful  iu 
terposition. 

It  is  more  than  seventy  years  since  salt  was  made 
at  Bullitt's  Lick.  The  Indians  resorted  there,  and 
combined  their  hunting  expedition  with  a  pursuit 
w)iich,  however  useful,  was  not  at  all  to  their  liking 
—distinguished  as  they  were  for  their  aversion  to  be 
classed  among  the  producing  classes— the  manufac- 
ture of  salt.  There  were  guides  to  these  salt  licks, 
who  told  even  the  Indian  where  they  were  to  be 
found— the  buffalo  and  the  deer.  There  was  vast 
difficulty,  of  course,  in  procuring  the  salt  from  the 
eastward,  and  the  settlers  soon  congregated  around 
the  Lick  ;  for  all  were  not  so  self-denying  as  the  bold 
old  hunter,  BooriC,  who  could  pass  his  months  with- 
out  eitlier  salt  or  sugar.  There  were  scenes  in  those 
salt  works  to  which  Syracuse  and  Cracow  are  stran- 
gers. The  hunters  divided— part  of  them  worked  at 
the  boiling,  and  part  hunted  to  supply  the  forest  ta- 
ble ;  and— a  characteristic  of  the  insecurity  of  theii 
jx^sition- the  remainder  served  as  an  advance  guard. 
The  crystals  cost  the  settlers  such  price  as  made  th* 
salt  more  precious  than  gold.  The  Indian  hated  to 
see  the*white  man  thus  engaged — not  but  that  he 
liked   well    to  see   the  heavy  hand  of  labor  un  the 


4:54  WTT.TJAM   Rr>SELT.. 

wliites;  but  it  seemed  like  an  invasion  of  tLe  righfe* 
^f  the  owner  of  the  soil,  and  the  very  industry  of  the 
fiettler  was  a  perpetual  reproach.  It  was  part  of  the 
arts  which  he  used,  and  before  the  exercise  of  which 
the  Indian  felt  himself  fading  away.  So,  when  the 
work  was  busy — wjien  the  furnaces  glowed,  and  the 
tramp  of  the  laboring  man  was  all  around — when  the 
manufacturer,  and  the  hunter,  and  the  guard  were 
all  on  the  alert— the  Indian  crept  behind  the  trees, 
and  thirsted  for  the  opportunity  to  send  the  shots  of 
of  his  warriors'  rifles  among  the  groups  below ;  and 
they  would  have  been  hurled  there,  but  for  the  fact 
he  knew  so  well,  that  the  vengeance  of  the  hunter 
would  be  rapid  and  certain. 

There  is  a  knot  there  which  bears  the  name  of  Ca- 
bre's  Knot,  and  it  is  associated  with  a  thrilling  inci- 
dent. There  was  all  the  glare  and  bustle  of  a  busy 
working  time.  The  light  of  the  furnaces  shone 
through  the  forest.  The  Indian  saw,  and  was  en- 
raged at,  the  spectacle.  Cabre  was  bound  in  a 
chestnut  oak,  the  Indians  intending  to  burn  hira 
in  sight  of  the  Lick  itself — it  might  be  so  that  the 
Bacrifice  vyja\d  in  reality  be  seen,  and  yet  not  its  na- 
ture detected  till  assistance  was  toe  late.  The  In- 
dians had  collected  their  fagots  from  the  pitch  pine ; 
and  while  every  preparation  for  the  horror  was  ma- 
king, some  oxen,  grazing  on  the  hill,  Jioved  flhrough 
the  thicket.   The  Indians  mistook  the  sound  for  that 


Caere's  narrow  escape.  455 

of  an  approach  of  a  rescue  party  of  the  whites 
Tliey  hastened  to  hide  themselves  in  the  opposite 
thicket,  and  Cabre  slipping  off  the  cords  that  bound 
him,  darted  through  the  darkness  and  escaped. 
There  was  new  life  among  those  salt  boilers  when  that 
panting  fugitive  arrived  among  them,  and  the  ladle 
was  exchanged  for  the  rifle,  instantly.  They  who 
had  met  to  destroy,  became  tlie  object  of  pursuit, 
and  the  trail  was  struck  and  followed  until  they 
reached  the  Ohio  river. 

Tliis  episode  in  our  sketch  has  been  made  only 
to  instance  what  perils  attended  every  movement  of 
tlie  pioneer.  Russell  was  in  the  midst  of  such  histo- 
ries, and  worked  out  his  manhood  under  such  cir- 
cumstances  of  alarm  and  constant  warfare,  that  when 
a  home  was  once  gained,  it  seemed  intensely  more 
valuable  than  if  gained  by  ordinary  means.  And 
this  entered  so  deeply  in  the  sorrows  of  the  pioneers 
like  Boone  and  Kenton,  that  after  they  had  fought 
inch  by  inch  for  the  land — after  they  liad  known 
what  it  was  almost  literally  to  track  out  its  lines  with 
their  blood,  to  have  it  speculated  and  intrigued  away 
from  them,  seemed  doubly  hard.  They  hncw  they 
had  fought  for  it,  and  they  did  not  comprehend  how 
any  title  could  be  better  or  greater  than  that  of 
which  they  were  so  conscious. 

In  1780  he  visited  Kentucky.     It  was  the  memora- 
ble hard  winter — the  time  so  well  remembered  even 
T 


456  WILLIAM   EUSSELL. 

now  by  our  very  old  men,  and  fearful,  indeed,  in  the 
new  countries— where  it  shut  the  door  of  the  log 
cehin  against  all  departures,  and  drove  the  game  te 
the  very  verge  of  tlie  settlements,  in  vain  effort  to 
tind  subsistence.  Nashville,  in  Tennessee,  was  then 
but  the  beginning — the  faint  and  feeble  beginning — 
of  its  present  condition.  Russell  visited  and  helped 
its  founders  defend  their  home. 

Nor  did  he  alone  signalize  himself  in  his  encoun- 
ters with  the  Indians.  The  same  courage  which  made 
him  a  volunteer  under  Boone,  impelled  him  to  the 
bravest  service  in  tlie  cause  of  the  country,  in  one  of 
its  most  severe  revolutionary  battles.  At  King's 
Mountain  he  was  conspicuous  for  his  daring.  That 
was  a  bold  fight,  and  one  in  which  these  daring  pio- 
neers took  noble  part.  The  causes  which  encouraged 
the  over-mountain  emigration  of  Boone,  were  closely 
connected  with  this  battle.  Kindred  loyalists,  whose 
conduct  (bove  off  the  humble  frontier  settler,  rallied 
willingly  around  the  standard  which  Colonel  Fergu- 
son, acting  under  the  orders  f  Corn  wall  is,  had  raised 
in  the  Carolinas.  Tlie  English  officer  mistook  the 
cbaracter  or  tliose  in  wliose  country  was  liis  warfare. 
The  very  abuse  of  his  power  drove  the  militia— the 
citizen  soldiery  of  those  states  —  to  desperation. 
Tliey  sent  far  and  wide  to  their  brethren  for  aid 
Among  others,  came  young  Russell,  second  in  com 
mand  of  tlie  Virginia  jnounted  regiment.      Circuin 


BERVES  UNDER  WAYNT,  AND  HARRISON.  157 

Btances  soon  placed  liim  in  full  command,  and  it  is 
iiis  distinguished  record,  that  it  is  belie v^ed  that  he 
was  the  first  to  reach  the  summit  of  the  monntain, 
and  to  him  the  first  surrender  of  a  sword  was  made. 
lie  followed  np  the  gallant  service  hy  a  series  of 
bold  passages  as  a  soldier,  in  successive  engagements. 
And  when  this  long  and  weary  war  was  over,  Una- 
sell  removed  to  Kentucky,  and  became  one  of  its  pi- 
oneers. He  found,  in  Fayette  county,  no  easy  home. 
The  fierce  Indian  assailed  the  inhabitants  in  all  forms 
of  attack,  and  the  soldier  found  his  life  a  succession 
of  warfare.  Thus  educated  to  bravery,  it  is  but  in 
the  regular  line  of  courage  that  he  afterward  served 
successfully  under  Anthony  Wayne  and  William 
Henry  IIarris(^n.  They  were  appropriate  leaders  for 
brave  men  to  follow.  To  him  Harrison  assigned  the 
defense  of  the  frontiers  of  Indiana,  Illinois  and  Mis- 
souri. And  so  passed  the  life  of  the  pioneer,  even 
t3  its  almost  three-score  and  ten,  in  noble  hearted 
B^rvice  to  his  country. 


SILAS  HARLAN. 

•uUKACTXR  GrVKN  HARLAN  BY  GEN.  CLARKE PLACE  OF  HIS  BIRTH HIS  XJkWLL 

REMOVAL  TO  KENTUCKY DANGERS    INCIDENT    TO    THE  FRC  NTIER    8ETTL» 

IfENTS STRUGGLES  WITH  THE  SAVAGES BORDER  ENCOUNTERS CAS8IDEY 

THE    IRISHMAN HIS  CAPTURE  BY    THE    INDIANS HIS    ESCAPE HARLAN'i 

LIFE    PASSED    AMID    SUCH     PERIL HE    BUILDS    A     FORT THE    DISASTROUS 

BATTLE  AT  THE  BLUE    LICKS HARLAN  IS    SLAIN. 

When  General  George  Kogers  Clarke  could  say 
of  a  pioneer,  that  "  he  was  one  of  the  bravest  and 
most  accomplished  soldiers  that  ever  fought  by  his 
Bide,"  sucli  a  man,  though  his  career  was  a  brief  one 
— thoiigli  lie  did  not  come  down  to  our  day,  or  to  the 
later  and  more  prosperous  times  of  the  state,  for 
which  as  a  frontier  colony  and  county  he  fought — 
such  a  man  cannot  be  spared  from  the  list  of  memora- 
ble men. 

It  is  not  in  a  brief  notice  that  the  life  of  the  great 
leader,  who  spoke  thus  kindly  of  the  subject  of  this 
sketch,  should  be  portrayed.  Clarke  deserves  the 
volume.  The  biography  of  such  a  man  should  b 
no  imperfect  review,  but  a  carefully  prepared,  an 
elaborate  record  of  the  service  of  him  who  seems  to 
have  organized  the  pioneers  into  order ;  who  led  the 
battle,  arranged  the  council,  followed  with  the  tread 
of  the  soldier  tlie  footsteps  of  Boone  ;  who  seems  to 


PLACE  OF  HIS  BIRTH.  459 

have  been  hy  the  side  of  every  pioneer,  and  whoso 
name  and  fame  Kentucky  ought  to  cherish,  as  of  her 
very  dearest. 

There  are  few  incidents  in  Harlan's  life,  but  those 
which  are  recorded  of  him,  prove  his  bravery.  He 
was  born  in  Berkley  county  in  Virginia;  for  that  no- 
ble old  state  seemed  never  weary  of  sending  forth 
her  sons  to  dare  the  dangers  of  the  wilderness  and 
the  savage.  And  never  did  dominion,  ancient  or 
modern,  hold  nobler  province  than  was  this  county 
of  Kentucky.  It  is  signilicant  evidence  of  the  great- 
ness of  Virginia,  that  all  that  superb  land  over  whose 
riches  and  fertility — capacity  to  be  the  home  of  mil- 
Kons — Fiudley  and  Boone  so  luxuriated,  was  once 
held  but  as  a  county. 

Harlan  came  very  early  into  Kentucky — as  early 
as  1774.  He  came  to  find  his  lot  at  once  cast  amidst 
the  wildest  tumults  —  the  most  vivid  alarms  —  the 
ceaseless  attacks  of  the  Indians,  who  just  then  began 
to  realize  the  fate  that  was  coming  over  him.  He 
saw  that  unless  he  tore  out  of  the  land  every  vestige 
of  the  white  man,  there  was  an  end  to  all  that  the 
hunting  ground  and  the  undisturbed  lodge  could 
furnish,  The  Indian  exhibited,  in  his  vain  efforts  to 
retain  possession  of  his  old  inheritance,  sometimes 
the  ferocity  of  a  demon — shutting  himself  out  of  all 
the  ordinary  sympathies  of  mankind — and  sometimea 
a  bravery  which  would  have  rendered  a  Roman  im- 


460  SILAS  HAJiLAN. 

mortal  in  fame.  Tliore  was  terrific  resolution,  wliich 
enabled  them  to  set  at  defiance  all  that  could  make 
the  lieart  of  the  boldest  quiver,  and  there  was  an 
alienation  from  the  very  ties  of  human  nature. 

Tlie  annals  of  the  settlers  are  one  series  of  inci- 
dents illustrating  the  Indian  in  his  ludicrous,  and, 
far  more  frequently,  in  his  terrible,  phases  of 
character. 

In  1790,  there  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  Zadock 
Milhaus  working  in  a  tobacco  field.  It  was  near  a 
station  called  Stockter's.  While  he  was  pursuing  his 
work — probably  not  dreaming  of  the  presence  of  a 
foe — a  shot  from  an  Indian,  who  had  crept,  unob- 
served, within  gun  shot,  brought  him  down.  The 
settler  could  not  pursue  an  ordinary  duty  without 
this  risk.  The  Indian  was  not  alone  ;  others,  as  fero 
cious,  were  with  him ;  and  they  were  proceeding  tc 
complete  their  work  of  cruelty,  when  an  old  negro 
woman  at  the  fort  seized  a  tin  horn,  and  such  wa¥ 
the  horrible  nature  of  her  blasts  thereon,  that  the 
Indians  fled  in  dismay.  The  savage  could  not  stay 
for  further  victories  that  day. 

There  was,  in  tlie  locality  which  is  now  Clark 
county,  a  very  active  Irishman,  by  the  name  of  Gas- 
sidey.  lie  was  very  small,  but  very  strong  and  ac- 
tive, ai)d  in  all  affrays  with  the  Indians  was  as  deter- 
mined as  the  most  gigantic  of  the  settlers.  On  one 
."»ccasioii  he  was  out   on  a  camp,  with  two  friends. 


CASSIDEY,  THE  IRISHMAN.  461 

and  by  a  sudden  movement,  fur  wliich  the  encamp- 
ment was  unprepared,  tlie  Indians  succeeded  in  kill 
mg  Cassidey's  companions  ;  and  •  as  they  were  now 
three  to  one,  Cassidey  was  overpowered,  and  the  In 
dians,  acting  out  tlie  very  worst  traits  of  their  char 
acter,  proceeded  to  exercise  their  power  over  him. 

As  Cassidey  was  a  small  man,  and  the  Indians  did 
not  expect  it  would  be  much  trouble  to  settle  him, 
they  determined  that  he  should  be  given  to  the  small- 
est and  youngest  of  their  number,  and  that  he  should 
proceed  to  cai-ve  him  ujp.  And  this  horrible  purpose 
they  proceeded  to  put  into  execution.  Stationing 
themselves  at  a  short  distance,  they  diverted  them- 
selves by  seeing  their  junior  grapple  the  prisoner. 
But  Cassidey  belonged  to  that  class  of  men  who  re- 
sist to  the  last,  and  as  the  Indian  approached  with  a 
large  butcher  knife,  he  seized  liim  and  flung  him  se- 
verely to  the  ground.  Up  rose  the  Indian,  and  at 
him  again,  and  again  Cassidey  flung  him  over.  The 
other  Indians  laughed  heartily,  and  considered  it  rare 
sport,  since  they  thought  their  comrade's  ill  success 
was  but  temporary.  But  when  they  saw  that  Cas- 
sidey overpowered  their  executioner,  they,  with  the 
intense  cowardice  that  is  always  the  characteristic 
of  the  savage  and  the  vulgar,  (as  well  in  our  own 
times  when  it  assumes  the  name  of  "  rowdy,"  as 
when  it  bore  the  :ippellation  of  "  Indian,")  rushed  on 
to  poor  Cassidey,  and  struck  him  to  the  earth   with 


462  SILAS  HARLAIJ. 

their  war  clubs.  As  he  fell,  Cassidey  seized  the 
great  knife  which  had  fallen  from  the  savage,  and, 
half  stunned  and  bruised  as  he  was,  he  sprang  up 
and  flashed  the  knife  before  the  Indians,  who, 
for  the  instant,  hesitated  ;  and  in  that  instant,  Cas- 
sidey leaped  out  of  their  grasp,  and  made  for  the 
woods.  It  was  a  terrible  race.  Tlirough  the  forest, 
they — pursuers  and  pursued — rushed,  but  the  white 
man  was  too  adroit.  He  succeeded  in  plunging 
into  a  deep  pond,  and  dark  as  it  was,  he  caught  hold 
of  a  tree  branch  which  overhung  the  water,  as  if 
in  mere  curve  of  beauty — and  yet  what  mortal  pur- 
poses was  in  that  bending? — and  here  he  clung. 
Meanwhile,  the  Indians  came  up  to  the  pond.  They 
lit  up  torches,  and  v/ith  wild  movement  gleamed 
their  red  rays  over  the  scene.  Still  as  the  grave^ 
Cassidey  hung.  The  shadows,  deeper  by  the  torches, 
held  him  in  their  obscurity,  and  the  Indians,  wea- 
ried at  last,  gave  up  the  search.  And  this,  terrible 
adventure  as  it  was,  was  but  one  of  thirty  different 
Indian  fights  in  which  he  was  engaged,  and  in  tliia 
respect  only  sharing  the  fate  of  those  who  founded 
Kentucky. 

Such  incidents  Harlan  lived  amidst.  A  man  who 
took  upon  liimself — not  contented  with  the  ordinary 
hazards  of  liis  lot — -tlie  dreadful  perils  of  the  post 
of  a  spy,  had  danger  for  his  nearest  companion. 
Sometimes  in  small  incidents  character  will  develop 


HE  IS  SLAEN.  463 

itself.  It  wiL  be  remembered  how  important  was 
Harrodsburgh — how  many  were  its  escapes — how  of 
ten  the  march  of  the  savage  was  directed  thither 
It  might  be  thought  that  in  that  wild  and  desperate 
time,  those  who  had  resort  in  that  country,  woulJ  only 
be  too  content  to  share  and  make  stronger  the  force  at 
Harrodsburgh;  but  Harlan  erected  another  station, 
seven  miles  distant.  It  was  a  stockade  fort — the^^ 
(>/i^6rof  those  superb  fortresses  which,  like  the  castel 
lated  fort  and  tne  white  bluffs  of  St.  Peter's  river,  in 
later  days,  have  kept  at  bay  the  slowly  retreating 
tribes  of  the  north-west. 

Harlan  was  all  his  life  a  soldier  pioneer.  Nor 
was  it  reserved  for  him  to  see  the  Kentucky,  for 
which  he  had  fought  so  bravely,  enter  the  confeder 
acy — a  great  and  powerful  state.  He  did  not  wit- 
ness the  development  of  the  empire  whose  founda- 
tion he  was  laying.  At  that  bloody  battle  of  the  Blue 
Licks,  where  so  many  of  the  pioneers  went  down  be- 
neath the  fatal  rifle  of  the  Indian — where  the  homes 
of  Kentucky  had  such  fatal  sorrows  written  in  their 
annals — Harlan  fell ;  fell  at  tlie  head  of  his  detach- 
ment, of  which,  as  major,  he  was  in  command. 

In  these  sketches,  the  effort  has  been  to  group 
some  of  the  incidents  which  characterized  the  livoe 
of  those  pioneers  wlio  followed  the  bold  and  glorious 
movements  of  Daniel  Boone.  He  was  first  of  a  no- 
ble company.     He  led  the  way,  and   bravely  did 


164: 


6LLAS  HAKLAN. 


brave  men  folio w^fol low  where  every  step  was — as 
the  old  Indian  chief  declared  to  Boone — tracked  in 
blood. 

And  of  such  was  the  founding  of  Kentucky,  in 
the  histories  of  mankind,  of  courage — of  endui'aiico 
— of  terrific  peril — of  persevering  effort — of  undying 
and  unswerving  love  for  freedom — of  a  land  con- 
quered by  the  strong  arm,  and  kept  by  the  free  pria 
c-iple — Kentucky  stands,  among  states,  preeminent. 


\. 


V 


X 


